Long Lost
by Aurianna Parker
Summary: *FINISHED!* For 14 years, people have believed that Heather Potter, Harry's twin sister, was killed in Voldemort's attack. But when a girl from America arrives at Hogwarts, who Snape seems to hate just as much as he hates Harry, what will happen?
1. Flashbacks

A/N  Yes, I am aware that Harry doesn't have a sister.  But don't you think he should?  I mean Hermione must be just a LITTLE lonely as the only female in their happy little gang!  Beyond the addition of Harry's twin, I tried to make my fic as true to JK Rowling's world as possible.  If you spot any inconsistencies between my story and the books, e-mail me and I'll look into it.  Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

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**_DISCLAIMER:  Ok, we both know that if I had anything to do with the creation of Harry Potter, I wouldn't be living in Smalltown, America writing fan fiction and suffering from extreme writer's block.  But I don't want to get in trouble so…._**

**_The creation of the Potters, the Weasley's, Hogwarts and all its occupants, and most everything else in this story is completely JK Rowling's work.  I think the only thing in this story that is original to me is Heather Potter and Patricia McLean.  I'm not making any money off this; it's just for fun. Thank you and enjoy._**

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**_Long Lost_**

Lily Potter sighed happily and stared down at her two babies lying asleep in their twin bassinettes.  The children were twins - a boy and a girl named Harry and Heather.  Harry had his father's thick, black hair, his mother's bright green eyes and the sweetest smile Lily thought she had ever seen.  Heather, on the other hand, had inherited her mother's red hair and her father's large gray eyes.

Yes, it was official; she had the two most perfect children in the entire world.

For the first time in many years, Lily wished she could see her sister, Petunia.  Lily would love to show Petunia Harry and Heather, just to see the look on the older woman's face.  That'd show her.  If she could only see what her 'good for nothing' sister had amounted to – good job, great husband, perfect children…

Petunia had never approved of Lily's school, Lily's husband, or even Lily herself.  Petunia prided herself in being perfectly normal.  And if you asked her now, she'd tell you that something had always seemed just a bit off about her younger sister.

Perhaps the problem was the difference in their ages – Petunia was 6 years older than Lily and the two had never grown very close.  Ever since Lily was born, Petunia had been jealous of the attention the new baby received.  Everyone in the family always cooed over how _lovely _Lily was.  It made Petunia sick.  And unlike others might have done, Petunia never forgave her sister for being the favorite.

Perhaps they would've grown closer in adulthood, but they were never given the chance.  When Lily was 11, she received a letter from Hogwarts School informing her that she was a witch and Hogwarts would like her to come and spend the next 7 years at their school learning magic.

Petunia had been mortified by the news. What if her friends found out? What would they say?

To add insult to injury, the girls' parents were simply thrilled.  They were so proud of their little Lily for being accepted to a school she hadn't even applied to.  It made Petunia's grudge even stronger.  She would never forgive her sister for being so good.  After the girls' parents passed away, Petunia had decided that she didn't have a sister – and that was that.  

            When Lily had graduated from Hogwarts at the age of 17, she'd been offered a job at the Ministry of Magic in the Anti-Dark Arts Department, and she had taken the opportunity.  Although her father had been nervous about the danger of the job, Lily had insisted.  The Anti-Dark Arts Dept. was the largest in the Ministry.  The Dark Lord Voldemort had been in power for nearly a decade, and people were panicked.  Voldemort killed without mercy and sometimes without reason.  People were even afraid to speak his name, instead calling him 'You-Know-Who' or 'He Who Must Not Be Named'.  Lily, James, and their friends had never thought this necessary, but they usually did it out of courtesy for others, who would always flinch at the name.  

Now, nine months after the Potter twins had been born, Voldemort was still in power, and stronger than ever.  Lily had never really known a Voldemort-free magical world - he'd risen to power in Lily's second year at Hogwarts.  The main reason she'd joined the Ministry was to ensure that her children didn't grow up to live in daily fear of death.  So far, things didn't look good.  The headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, had spies in Voldemort's inner circle that reported that the Dark Lord had been zeroing in on the Potters since they had caught one of Voldemort's favored followers, Patricia McLean.  Voldemort had rescued Patricia from Azkaban after she'd been there for several years, but Dumbledore's spies reported Patricia's mind was permanently damaged by this experience and she was slowly dieing.  

Word was that Voldemort wanted revenge.  Dumbledore was suggesting (begging actually) that Lily and James go into hiding, but they were determined to help as much as possible.  Both of them hated the idea of protecting themselves when so many others needed help.

In times like this, Lily liked to think back to the simpler days as a student at Hogwarts.  Despite the fact that Voldemort had been terrorizing the country even then, people said Dumbledore was the only person 'You-Know-Who' feared, and therefore Hogwarts was relatively safe.

The happiest times of Lily's life had been at Hogwarts.  She'd made her best friends there: James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettegrew – although she'd never really felt she knew Peter as well as the others.  While Lily, James, Remus, and Sirius had been friends since they'd come to Hogwarts at the age of 11, Peter had latched on to the group some time during their second year.  Lily was actually sorry now that she hadn't known him better, he'd always had a bit of a crush on her – or so James said.

Remus was a werewolf.  During their first year at Hogwarts, Remus had kept this to himself, but his friends had always wondered where he went once a night every month.  Surely his mother couldn't be so sick so often?  Then Sirius had realized the pattern to it.  Remus left every month on the night of the full moon, and was gone for two days after.  Lily had never really questioned it.  She'd only found out during their fifth year.  As she stood in the babies' room thinking about it, she vividly remembered that night. 

_Lily was lying in bed in the girl's dormitory, fast asleep.  Suddenly she woke up, remembering that she'd left her Charms book in the common room.  Groaning, she got out of bed, wrapped her dressing gown around her, and pulled on her shoes.  Quietly, as not to disturb the other girls, she crept down the winding staircase to the Gryffindor common room.  Just before she stepped into the dim light of the dying fire, she heard a thud and paused, hand resting on the doorframe.  Hushed voices could be heard coming from the common room, but Lily didn't see anyone.  The voices spoke again._

_"Give me a break, alright?  It was an accident."_

_"Hey, would both of you just calm down? We're not going to get caught.  It's midnight.  We're the only ones up."_

_That last voice was James, Lily knew it.  She recognized the other voice as Peter, and she was willing to bet Sirius was with them.  Remus was with his mother again.  They were all clearly under James' Invisibility Cloak.  But what were they doing?  _

_More importantly, what were they doing without her?  She decided to follow them.  Unfortunately, that was easier said than done, because of course she couldn't see them at all and they were being careful not to talk anymore.  But after spending five years with people like her friends, who were only happy when they were causing trouble, she'd learned to hear even the slightest sound of footsteps in a darkened corridor._

_She followed them past the Library and the Great Hall, and through several sliding panels and secret passages, before they led her to the kitchen, the doors of which were hastily picked by a quick spell from one of the boys.  They closed the doors behind them before moving away once more.  Lily peered into the kitchens to see a door at the opposite end of the huge room close.  This one led outside._

_Careful not to wake any of the house elves that were dozing on just about every flat surface in the room, Lily crossed the kitchen.  She slipped out the door as her friends had done and ducked behind a bush, painfully aware that if a teacher spotted her, it would mean serious trouble.  Peeking out around the leafy branches of the hedge, Lily saw James, Sirius and Peter appear suddenly less than three feet ahead of her as they pulled off the Invisibility Cloak.  They hurried on a bit and stopped just out of reach of the flailing branches of the Whomping Willow.  _

_Lily held her breath – what were they doing?  Then there were three quiet pops, and Sirius, James and Peter turned into animals.  For a moment Lily was too stunned to move.  In Peter's place sat an overweight rat.  Where Sirius had stood crouched an immense, black, vicious looking dog.  And where James had been there was a magnificent stag.  Then Peter made for the writhing branches of the enormous willow.  Suddenly, Lily stepped out from behind the bush and called out to the trio of animals._

_"Just what do you think you're doing?" she snapped sharply, sounding a great deal like their Transfiguration teacher, Professor McGonagall.  Startled, the animals hesitated for a few seconds, and then reluctantly morphed back to human form.  There was a moment of silence, then everyone started to speak at once._

_"Lily, What are you doing here?"_

_"I could ask you the same thing!"_

_"Lily, it's not important!  Go back to bed!"_

_"Don't you dare tell me what to do, Sirius!  You have no right-"_

_"Quiet down, all of you!  We'll be caught!"_

_This last remark from Peter seemed to bring everyone to their senses.  Lily walked towards the three so they could talk more quietly._

_"Peter's right," Sirius said, firmly, " Lily, go on back-"_

_"NO!" Lily hissed forcefully, "I am going to stand right here until you tell me what is going on!"_

_The boys glanced at each other.  James looked ready to give in.  Sirius had a warning look on his face and Peter shrugged helplessly.  Lily raised her eyebrows impatiently._

_"Oh, alright," Sirius growled, making Lily think once more of the fierce dog he had been just seconds ago.  James nodded and took a deep breath._

_"Remus is a werewolf, Lily."_

_At first Lily had refused to believe them, but they had explained it all.  Remus' monthly disappearances, his bad moods around the full moon - all of it.  James, Sirius and Peter had become Animagi to keep Remus company while he was in wolf form.  It all made perfect sense.  Except for one thing._

_"How could you keep something this important from me?" Lily asked angrily._

_"Don't you see?" Sirius replied.  "Everyday we worked to become Animagi, we broke rules.  We ran the risk of being expelled!  We know how much you care for Remus – but we also know how important Hogwarts is to you.  If you'd known about Remus, you'd insist on helping him!  But if we got caught, we'd never forgive ourselves for you getting kicked out."  All three boys looked embarrassed, yet firm.  Lily couldn't help smiling a bit._

_"Well, thank you.  I think.  But next time something like this happens, tell me about it, okay?  I'm a big girl.  I like to make my own decisions."  _

_Her friends nodded, smiling sheepishly.  "Now, does anyone have any secrets they want to share with me?  Sirius?  Is there some torrid love affair you have with a mermaid that I should know about?  Peter?  You haven't befriended the squid in the lake, have you?"  They all grinned at each other.  And if it was possible, that night brought all five of them closer together._

Back in the present, Lily thought about this memory fondly.  Peter and Remus – she hadn't had a good talk with either of them for quite a while.  Everything had been so hectic lately.  She'd heard that Remus was having trouble finding a job, due to the fact that he was a werewolf.  Peter was often gone, but whenever Lily saw him, he seemed to be well off and rather unconcerned about the current problems with Voldemort.  At least one of them was doing all right.

And then there was Sirius.  Lily had met him on the Hogwarts Express on the first day of their first year at school.  Lily grinned to herself, thinking back.

_Eleven-year-old Lily Canton stepped onto the Hogwarts Express nervously.  She turned and waved to her beaming parents.  They were so proud of her.  But what if she wasn't good enough?  What if she got there and the headmaster realized he'd made a mistake?  From the frightened looks on many other first years' faces, Lily could tell she wasn't the only one thinking about that.  Taking some comfort in this, she wandered down the center isle of the train, looking for an empty compartment.  It wasn't hard to find one – her parents had insisted on being early, so Lily was one of the first people there.  _

_After setting her new caged owl on the floor in front of her, Lily gazed out the window at the growing crowd on Platform 9 ¾.  _

_She saw her parents were chatting happily with another family.  Petunia was standing slightly apart from the group, sulking annoyingly.  She had loudly complained about being forced to come and see Lily off, and right now she was glancing around warily at the smiling people milling about the platform as if they might contaminate her.  Lily rolled her eyes in exasperation.  _

_Well, Mum and Dad can have fun for all four of us.  Lily thought as her mother laughed at something someone said.  Personally, Lily felt like she had giant butterflies with fangs gnawing on her stomach.  What if she was the only – what was the word for it?  Muggle? – at the school?  What if everyone hated her?  What would she do?  Probably no one will sit with me on the train, she thought gloomily, And I'll have no friends.  As if on cue, a boy carrying a caged owl walked through the compartment door.  He had black hair and brown eyes.  _

_            "Is it okay if I sit here?" he asked, hopefully._

_            "Definitely," Lily answered quickly.  The boy grinned his thanks and set his owl cage next to Lily's.  Both owls eyed each other for a moment, and then promptly fell asleep.  _

_            "I'm Sirius Black," the boy said, sitting across from Lily._

_            "Lily Canton."_

_            "Are you a first year as well?"_

_            "Yes," Lily said, smiling.  Thank goodness – another first year!  "Are you nervous?"_

_            "Not really," Sirius said, shrugging casually.  "Are you?"_

_            "No," she lied.  Then she shrugged and smiled sheepishly.  "Completely terrified is more like it."  _

_"Don't worry," Sirius said reassuringly, "You'll be fine, everyone starts off new at Hogwarts.  I've been looking forward to coming here for years!" he grinned enthusiastically._

_"Oh, are you a – a pureblood, then?"  Lily asked hesitantly.  'Pureblood' **was** the right word, wasn't it?  Those two boys in Madam Malkin's at Diagon Alley had been talking about it…  'Purebloods', 'Mudbloods', and 'Slytherin' – whatever that was.  _

_One of the boys, the one with greasy black hair, had asked her what she was, but she'd been rescued from answering by Madam Malkin's assistant taking her into a back room to be fitted._

_"Yeah," Sirius replied carelessly, shrugging as if it didn't matter.  "What about you?" he asked kindly, not at all like those boys from Diagon Alley.  Lily was sure she liked Sirius much better._

_"I'm Muggle born," she replied, frowning.  Some of her feelings must have appeared on her face, because Sirius gave her a piercing look and said,_

_"That doesn't matter to me, you know.  It doesn't matter to most people at Hogwarts.  Only the Slytherins, and they're all rotters anyway."_

_Lily smiled gratefully at him, then paused.  He seemed very nice… surely it would be all right to ask him?  "Sirius…what's Slytherin?  I've heard some people mention it, but…" _

_"Oh, Slytherin is one of the four houses at Hogwarts; you'll hear more about them once we get there – during the Sorting Ceremony," he said helpfully.  "The houses are Hufflepuff, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and-"_

_"And Gryffindor."  A new voice finished.  Lily looked up to see the compartment door slide shut behind a new boy.  He had large gray eyes that sparkled behind his glasses and thick, untidy black hair.  He had the aura of a rebel about him, and Lily was intrigued by it.  _

_He and Sirius seemed to know each other.  "James, old boy!"  Sirius bellowed, leaping to his feet and grinning broadly.  "Where've you been?  I was looking all over the train – I would've waited for you on the platform, but I discovered that I really didn't care."_

_The James-boy choose to ignore this last bit and just smiled at his friend, setting his own owl cage down and collapsing into a seat, sighing heavily.  _

_"Mum wanted to take some pictures of me leaving the house, of me in my robes, of me with my dad…" he sighed again and rolled his eyes, although he was clearly not completely displeased by all the fuss his mother had made over him._

_"Awww…ickle Jamiekins is all grown up and off to Hogwarts, how sweet," Sirius teased in a sickly sweet voice._

_"Shut up," James said good-naturedly.  He then glanced across the compartment at Lily.  "Who are you, my good lady, and how did you fall into such bad company?" he asked, grinning charmingly._

_Lily smiled back, blushing slightly.  "I'm Lily Canton."_

_"James Potter.  It seems you've already met Sirius, how unfortunate."_

_Sirius ignored the insult and started talking to James again, in a normal voice this time.  "Lily's a first year as well.  She's Muggle born, so I was explaining about the houses."_

_James gave Lily an appraising look.  "I bet you'll be in Gryffindor," he said finally.  Lily got the impression that he was paying her a complement.  He confirmed this suspicion when he continued with, "It's the very best house, you know.  The new headmaster – Dumbledore – he was Gryffindor, and my dad says he's the best wizard of our time."_

_"James here is quite the expert on placing people in houses on sight," Sirius informed Lily solemnly.  "Fancies himself the Sorting Hat."  Sirius turned and gave James the most insulting smile Lily had ever seen.  In the years to come, they would all call it 'The Slytherin Smile'._

_James seemed completely unfazed by this.  "That's right," he said, looking at Sirius.  "And I can tell you're going to be…" he screwed up his face in concentration "a Hufflepuff!"_

_Sirius put on a face of mock-indignation.  "Lily, avert your eyes, I'm going to kill James and I'd hate to offend you with the sight of him crying like a little girl."_

_James rolled his eyes, obviously not expecting Sirius to actually do anything, but at that moment, Sirius knocked him to the floor, and then they were rolling around the compartment, wrestling furiously with each other.  _

_They obviously weren't trying to do each other any real damage, and Lily couldn't help laughing.  Although she had no idea why being in Hufflepuff should be so offensive, she was pleased to have been included in their joke.  One thing was for sure: Hogwarts was looking more and more appealing to her._

Sirius had always been like an older brother to Lily.  Since their first day of school, he'd looked out for her.  As they all got older, Sirius had got rid of any unwanted attention that came Lily's way.  He'd also beaten up Severus Snape, a greasy haired Slytherin, whenever he called Lily a 'mudblood' - even if it got Sirius detentions.  Sirius had been James' best man in Lily and James' wedding, and was now both Heather and Harry's godfather.

It was easy to see how close Sirius was to the Potter family, which raised Voldemort's interest in him.  Lily and James were aware of this and felt truly awful.  Sirius, however, had always waved their concerns aside.

'Well, if he decides to kill me, at least I'll have had friends like you, and godchildren like Harry and Heather.  I'm not going to stop seeing you because Lizard Eyes shakes his fist at me.'  Sirius had said when James had suggested he distance himself from the family for a while.

'Lizard Eyes' was Sirius' name for Voldemort, and though Lily didn't like to admit it, every time Sirius said it a chill went up her spine.  If Voldemort heard Sirius say that… 

But that was being silly.  Voldemort wouldn't hear it, and if he ever got close enough to do that, he'd have killed them all before the words could have left Sirius' lips.  Not a very comforting thought, but it was all they had.

Lily reached up a hand to her throat and fidgeted with her necklace, as she always did when she was nervous.  Touching this particular necklace always seemed to calm her down.  She could still remember when James had given it to her.

It was Christmas vacation in their sixth year at Hogwarts, and Lily had been at home with her family.  They had just finished opening all their presents when James' enormous eagle owl had tapped politely on the window, dropped a package on the doorstep, and sailed off over the rooftops.

The necklace the box had contained was beautiful; a net of fine silver threads studded with pearls.  Pulling absently on one of the tiny chains, Lily couldn't help smiling.

_"Hey, Lily," Sirius said, grinning broadly as his friend Lily Canton walked into his dorm room.  "Welcome back.  Here to see me?"_

_"Nope," Lily replied cheerfully, walking over to James, who was beaming at her._

_Remus sighed heavily, although he couldn't keep himself from smiling a bit.  "Come on," he mock-grumbled to Sirius and Peter, hauling them up by their collars, "Let's give Lily and James some privacy."_

_"Oh, yes," Sirius said, grinning evilly, "Mr. and Mrs. Prongs need some _privacy_."_

_"What?" Peter complained loudly, "Why do _we_ have to leave?  Why don't _they_ leave?"_

_But Remus was already pushing them both out of the dormitory and, after casting one last, indulgent smile over his shoulder, closed the door behind himself._

_"Have a seat," James offered innocently, gesturing to his lap._

_Lily grinned and took the offer, sighing contentedly as James put his arms around her waist and hers went around his neck.  She could sit like this for hours._

_"I see you haven't used a comb since I left," she observed, running her fingers through James' messy black hair, "Honestly, James, you're completely helpless – it's amazing you even made it to sixteen!" she teased._

_James sighed with mock ruefulness.  "It's true.  It's a good thing you're back, really – I've been forgetting to bathe."_

_James grinned as Lily tried to laugh and look disgusted at the same time._

_"So how are you doing?" she asked finally, gently stroking his hair._

_"Loads better than I was ten minutes ago," he replied truthfully._

_"Me too," Lily snuggled closer to him._

_"How was your Christmas?" James asked._

_"Lovely," Lily replied with a grin, "Do you want to hear what I got?"_

_"Of course," James said, playing along._

_"Well, I got some books and some clothes and – oh – these boots," she held up her foot for inspection of the new boots._

_"Nice," James said, approving._

_"But all my gifts paled in comparison to just one of them.  It's a _beautiful_ necklace – I have it on right now, in fact," she pulled aside her scarf to show him a silver necklace studded with milky pearls._

_"Oh, well, that's very nice," James said, as though he'd never seen it before, "Who gave it to you?"_

_"Well, it's funny you should ask," Lily said in a voice so serious that James couldn't help chuckling._

_Lily leaned forward so that their faces were just a few inches apart._

_"I got it from the sweetest," she leaned further forward and kissed him softly, "smartest," she kissed him again, "most handsome Quidditch captain to ever walk the earth," she finished in a whisper as her lips brushed his once more._

_"Well, he sounds like an excellent chap," James whispered hoarsely before clearing his throat, "I'd like to meet him."_

_"So would I," Lily said with a sigh as she straightened up, voice full of depressed longing._

_James laughed out loud at that; he loved it when Lily was in this playful mood._

_"Seriously, James," she said, turning her beautiful green eyes to his gray ones, "this is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.  Thank you so much."_

_"I'm glad you like it," James said, smiling._

_"I don't like it, I _adore_ it," she corrected firmly, "And I can't thank you enough."_

_"Maybe if you start now…" James said with a suggestive grin._

_Lily laughed her beautiful laugh and they kissed again – gently, lovingly, and carefully._

_James loved Lily's laugh more than any other sound in the world.  It was sweet and light – it was his dearest ambition to make her laugh like that every day for the rest of their lives…_

_Then their kiss deepened and became more passionate, and James stopped thinking about anything other than how Lily fit into his arms and how soft her lips were and how he felt when he kissed her – like he could fly all over Hogwarts without his broomstick._

_It was official – James was in love.  _

_Padfoot would be so disappointed in him.  Somehow, that thought didn't bother him a bit._

Back in the present, Lily Potter turned away from her sleeping children to face her husband, who was standing in the doorway, smiling at her.

"Back already?" she asked.  James walked into the room and wrapped his arms around her.

            "I couldn't keep away from you three for very long," he answered, kissing her on the cheek.

            "What did Dumbledore want?  He didn't sound very happy in his note," Lily asked, looking him in the eye.  James had just been to see the headmaster of Hogwarts, who had sent them an owl asking one of them to come and meet with him as soon as possible.

            "He was asking us to go into hiding again.  He said he's found a charm – the Fidelius Charm."

            "How does that work?" Lily asked, curiously.

            "We go into hiding somewhere and only tell one person – the Secret-Keeper.  Our location is hidden by magic and only the Secret-Keeper will be able to find us.  Voldemort could be watching us weed the garden and he wouldn't know we were there.  Unless the Secret-Keeper comes forth with our whereabouts, no one else would ever know."

            "James, we've been over this.  I thought we agreed we wouldn't hide as long as others need us!"

            "I know we did, Lily, but I think Dumbledore's right.  We're too high profile!  I hate leaving you and the children here whenever I go in to work.  I'm afraid that I'll come home and find-- please do this Lily.  After a few months in hiding, when Voldemort's stopped bothering to look for us, we can come back out and start working again.  But right now, the risks are too high!"  

Lily sighed and looked down at their two sleeping babies – Harry and Heather were completely unaware of the danger surrounding them.  They didn't deserve to grow up without parents.  Wearily, Lily sighed and gave in.

            "Ok," she agreed, nodding, "You're right.  Let's do the charm.  How long will it take?"

James' face broke into a grin.

She barely remembered that face.  They didn't have reason to smile much anymore.  They both deserved a rest.

            "Roughly three months.  I'll send an owl off to Sirius asking him to be Secret-Keeper," Lily nodded, smiling softly.  James rushed off and his wife turned back to Harry and Heather.  

            "You'll be safe now.  I promise," she murmured to them.

~*~

                         **_Three months later…_**

            "I just don't think we should have switched is all!"  Lily said, frowning.

            "Lily, I trust Peter.  Our secret is safe with him.  And Sirius thinks it's all right!  Everything will be fine.  Voldemort won't have expected us to change Secret-Keepers."

Lily and James Potter were standing in the front room of their safe-house, a tiny, one story building in Godric's Hollow.  The couple was arguing in hushed voices on the matter of choosing Peter Pettegrew over Sirius Black as their Secret-Keeper for the Fidelius Charm.  At the last moment, Sirius had convinced the Potters to change to Peter.  'Voldemort will be expecting it to be me!' he'd pointed out.  'And if he catches me, he could use a truth potion or something like that.  But he won't be expecting Peter.  We've hardly talked to him in the past two years!'  Lily and James had argued, but eventually given in.  Now, however, Lily was having second thoughts.  

            "I know you and Sirius trust him, James, but we haven't hardly seen him in two years!  Sirius said so himself!  I'm not saying he's crossed over, it's just…I don't know.  We should've gotten Dumbledore's opinion.  Or Remus'."

            "Sirius thinks Remus is on Voldemort's side," James pointed out.

            "Well, I don't see why!" Lily said, more shrilly than she'd meant to.  "Remus has always been a good friend."

            "And so has Peter.  Lily, I trust him.  We can count on him."  

Lily rolled her eyes in exasperation.

            "Honestly, James.  You're too trusting for your own good," she informed him, annoyed.  But her voice had lost much of its edge.  "And don't try that look on me, I won't fall for it," Lily warned as James looked at her with a whipped puppy expression.  "No one would ever guess you're 23, you act like a child," she went on, but she was smiling now.

            "Ah, I'm just young at heart," he replied, pulling his wife into a hug.  He kissed her forehead.  "Things will turn out right.  You'll see."

~*~

            Peter Pettegrew trembled slightly, his forehead touching the cold stone he was kneeling on.  

            "What is it you want, Wormtail?  I have no time for trivial matters," a high, icy voice rang out and echoed against the cold and dark stonewalls of the underground enclosure.  Several torches gave a flickering light to the scene, and two men in long, black, hooded robes stood on either side of the only door, their faces hidden in shadow.  They were Death Eaters – the followers of Voldemort.  And although the sight of them would send chills up the spines of most wizards, they were nothing compared to the sight that was before Peter.  

This person was the reason Peter Pettegrew was shaking so badly.  On a raised iron throne sat Lord Voldemort, the most feared Dark wizard in over one hundred years – worse than even Grindelwald himself.  Peter had never actually looked the Dark Lord full in the face; that would be terribly disrespectful.  But from a year of sideways glances and hurried glimpses, he'd gathered that the Dark Lord was tall, very thin, and very pale, with hardly any nose and slits on his face for nostrils.  He had flat, almond shaped eyes that were the sickening color of dried blood with thin, black, slit pupils like a cat's.  He had long, thin, bony fingers like pale spiders that slowly massaged the wooden wand he held.  

Finding his voice at last, Pettegrew answered the creature (he could no longer be called a man) in front of him.  

            "M-master," he began, stuttering badly, "The P-Potters have g-g-gone into hiding.  They are using the F-Fidelius Charm."

            Voldemort let out a sharp, annoyed hiss.  Peter closed his eyes, expecting to be punished for being the bearer of bad news.  "I was expecting this," Voldemort said, slowly.  He seemed to be thinking for a few moments before he remembered Peter was there.  "I suppose they used Sirius Black as a Secret-Keeper for the charm.  Do you have any idea where Black might be hiding, Wormtail?  He was a friend of yours at Hogwarts, was he not?" 

            "H-he was, my Lord.  But he is not their Secret-K-Keeper…. I am."

There was a pause where everything seemed to stop, and Peter closed his eyes tightly against the flood of self-loathing that was suddenly sweeping over him.  It was far worse now than it had been when he had first given in to Lord Voldemort, though Peter hadn't thought that was possible.  He was betraying his friends, who had always been there for him; never turned on him.

No!  They weren't really his friends; they had never _really _been his friends!  They were too strong, too brave – how could he have ever even pretended to be their equal?  He was only doing what came naturally to him – giving up.  Giving in to pressure.  Doing things he didn't want to do.  He'd learned that skill in school, when he'd allowed Sirius and James to bully him time and time again into participating in one of their dangerous adventures.  Adventures he'd wanted no part of…

Or had he?  They hadn't been hurting him; they'd been including him!  They _had _been his friends all along, and now he was betraying them!  But they had always teased him – especially Sirius.  Sirius teased him all the time…but James…James had always defended him.

What was he doing?  He had to get out; he had to leave before he betrayed James!  But it was too late…he could hear himself, as if in a dream, giving Lord Voldemort James and Lily's new address, he could hear Voldemort laughing…oh, how Peter hated that laugh…he could faintly see Voldemort sweeping off out of his throne chamber, followed by his Death Eaters.

But Peter didn't follow.  He hadn't been asked to come along.  In his entire life, there had only been three people who had ever asked him to come along.

            Alone in the cold chamber full of flickering shadows, Peter Pettegrew lay on the ground and started to cry.  

~*~

            Lily Potter stood in the kitchen, making tea for her husband and herself.  James was in the front room, reading an article about the capture of the LeStranges – a couple working for Voldemort.

Even though they'd only been in hiding for a few days, Lily could already feel the stress leaving her.  They were nowhere close to as tense as they'd been before the Charm was performed.  This had definitely been a good idea.  Lily smiled happily as she pulled out her wand to boil the water for tea.

Quite suddenly, there was a knock at the door.  Lily glanced through the open kitchen door to exchange a nervous look with James, who had gotten out of his chair quickly at the sound.  The only person who knew where they were was Peter, and he shouldn't be coming anywhere near them so soon after the charm had been completed.  He should be in hiding himself!  

At the same moment, Lily and James realized who must be behind the door, and Lily saw her husband's eyes widen in horror.

"Lily, take the children and go!  It's him!  Go!  Run!  I'll hold him off-"  

Without warning, the front door was blown off it's hinges with a blast so powerful it ripped the door frame out of the wall and knocked both James and Lily off their feet.  Lily fell backwards, striking her head sharply on the edge of the counter.  Pain shot through her skull, making her eyes water.

            James coughed softly as he regained his breath and the dust around him started to clear.  He looked up at the figure in the doorway.  Although he'd never seen the man before, there wasn't any question in his James' mind who he was – Voldemort.  The creature let out a high, mirthless laugh.  

            "James, James, James.  You didn't _really_ think you could hide from Lord Voldemort did you?"  James felt cold panic shoot through him.  He didn't feel like he was in his body, but more like he was watching the scene from someone else's eyes, oddly detached from it.  He could do nothing but lay there, frozen with crippling fear.  Voldemort was talking again.  

"Patricia was most adamant that we come here tonight, James.  She wants revenge for what you and your wife did to her.  You and your whole family will pay for your crimes," James' eyes darted to the right and he saw a dark form step forward from behind Voldemort.  

At first he didn't recognize the woman, her skin was yellowed and sick looking, her hair wasn't silky anymore, but dull and tangled; her lips were thin and creased and her eyes held a wild look.  She seemed to have aged about fifteen years, but James finally realized who it was – Patricia McLean, the woman he and Lily had put in Azkaban.  Recognizing Patricia seemed to jump-start James' nervous system.  He leapt to his feet and pulled out his wand.  

"LILY, GO!!" James bellowed.

            Lily had been watching from the floor of the kitchen where she'd fallen when the door was blown in.  She hesitated for another instant before scrambling to her feet and running down the hallway to the bedroom door.

            James faced Voldemort.  "I won't let you do this," he said icily.  Voldemort widened his eyes.

            "Are you going to stop me?  Your friend Peter realized it was pointless to resist me.  You must see that as well now.  Join me now, and you can be on the winning side of this battle."

            James' mind exploded with thoughts.  Peter?  Oh, no – Voldemort must've caught him and tortured the information out of him!  Oh, Peter, I'm so sorry!  He quickly pushed these thoughts aside.  If he wanted to save his family, he had to act fast.

            After what seemed like years, Lily slammed into the bedroom door.  She could now hear the twins wailing loudly inside the room.  The explosion had obviously woken them.  She turned the knob and shoved at the door violently, but it wouldn't budge.  Oh, God, now is _not_ the time for the door to be sticking! she thought, almost bursting into tears.  She kept pounding on the door and shoving at the knob, but it didn't work.  She was trying very hard not to go into hysterics, but it wasn't easy.

            "I'll never betray my friends." James stated firmly.  "If I have to die to save them, then I'll die.  _Expelliarmus!_"  James shouted this last word, the Disarming Spell.  Unfortunately, Voldemort had anticipated this move.  He was just a second too fast for James, and blocked the spell before it hit him.  

            Then, Voldemort raised his want once more.  "_Avada Kedavra_," he hissed.  There was a blast of green light from Voldemort's wand that shook the house.  Shaking obviously wasn't what this house needed.  The front windows broke as part of the ceiling collapsed.  A tall bookshelf toppled over, smashing the table and chairs cleared from supper hours ago.  James leapt away just in time, landed on the floor, and rolled quickly back to his feet and raised his wand again.  

"Petrificus totalus!"  He yelled, but Voldemort blocked that as well.  Under normal circumstances, James would have been happy to see the hint of surprise in his opponents' eyes.  Voldemort obviously hadn't expected James to last even this long.  

"_Avada Kedavra_!" Voldemort shrieked.  James tried to dodge again, but he wasn't quite quick enough.  Another tremendous blast rocked the house as cracks ran up the wall and more windows shattered.  

James Potter lay on the floor, without a breath of life.  His empty eyes stared into eternity as his last thought vanished from his mind along with his life – "I love you, Lily."

            The third blast knocked Lily from her feet again.  The flash of green light that had burst from the front room momentarily blinded her.  

James was dead.

The realization hit her like a blow to the stomach and she couldn't quite understand what it meant.  James was dead.  

But he couldn't be gone!  He was still there; he couldn't die!  She decided it was impossible for James to have left her so completely, and thought of it more as that he had gone on a sudden, very poorly timed holiday.  Settling on this conclusion, she attempted to open the door again, pulling back on the knob first to gain leverage.  As she leaned back, the door creaked and jerked open at last.  Lily mentally cursed her stupidity.  The door was to be PULLED – not PUSHED!

            Patricia let out a squeal of delight at the sight of James' dead body.  "Let's do it again!" she begged, rather like a young girl asking for sweets.  

            "Alright," Voldemort agreed, his lips pulled back in what looked like a horrible grimace, but was meant as a smile.  Patricia seemed to take pleasure in this response, however, as she laughed and banged the end of her broomstick sharply on the floor.

"Little Lily!" she called out in a high voice.  "Come out and play!  We've a lovely surprise for you!"

            Lily shuddered as the voice from the front room reached her ears.  She dashed to the other side of the bedroom where the children were still wailing at the tops of their lungs.  "Shhhhh…" she whispered comfortingly as she made to pick up Harry.  

            "Ah, ah, ah, Lily!" said a cruel, high voice from the doorway.  "I'll be killing those children.  Stand aside."

            "Stand aside, Lily!" Patricia echoed gleefully.  Lily stood in front of her children who, apparently realizing the importance of the moment, had stopped screaming.  

"I'm not moving," she said, coldly.

            "Stand aside, silly girl!  I have no time to play games!"

            "No!" shouted Lily, desperately wishing she hadn't left her wand in the kitchen.  "Please!  Not my children, please!  Take me instead!  Please, I'll do anything!"  She was rapidly losing her composure as tears streamed down her face.  

            "Stand aside, you silly girl…stand aside, now…"

            "Not my children, please no, take me, kill me instead-"

            Voldemort laughed again, a high, painful noise that held no humor.  "Very well," Voldemort said, smiling.  He raised his wand.  "_Avada Kedavra_," he hissed once more.

_Avada Kedavra – the Killing Curse.  _

_An interesting curse, really.  No block, no remedy, no way to save yourself.  But there is a way to save another.  _

_Because the strongest thing on Earth is not the Killing Curse.  It's the one thing Voldemort could not understand - love.  _

_Love so deep you would sacrifice yourself for someone without any regret for what you've lost in return.  The instant before Lily Potter died, she realized this.  And she willingly gave her life for those of her children.  She had no remorse, no second thoughts.  She only knew that she was going to be with James, and that although their children might grow up without their own parents physically with them, they would never be completely alone._

Now you'll be safe, like I promised.

~*~

            Albus Dumbledore woke with a start and the intense feeling he'd forgotten to do something very important.  He jumped out of bed and hurried into his office, pulling a chain from around his neck.  Hanging on the chain was a small silver key, which Dumbledore shoved into the keyhole of a storage cabinet standing in his office.  Instead of the usual files and papers one would expect to find in such a cabinet, the shelves of this one were packed with glass orbs and jars labeled with strange names.  There was also a medium sized bowl filled to the brim with silver smoke that spun slowly, twisting in on itself.  

Dumbledore pushed several things aside and found what he was looking for – a small wooden box.  He pulled this out and set it on his desk, flipping open the lid to reveal two small, glass bubbles.  They floated about a centimeter above the bottom of the box and were translucent with a tinge of blue to them.

One orb contained what looked like blue powder spinning slowly in the center.  But Dumbledore wasn't paying attention to this one.  He moaned softly and beckoned the empty bubble forward; it floated up until it was level with Dumbledore's eyes.  

"No," he whispered.  "James."  

The two orbs were Life-Monitors.  They could be set to view the life force of nearly any person you wanted, and these specific Life-Monitors were monitoring Lily and James Potter.  Dumbledore could see that James was dead.  He had died recently, too – the blue powder that had settled at the bottom of the bubble looked as if it had just stopped moving.  Dumbledore glanced down at the other orb in time to see the spinning powder stop moving and crumble to the base of the bubble.  

"Voldemort has found them," Dumbledore said mournfully.  If Voldemort had found them and killed them, the Fidelius Charm would have been broken, and Dumbledore would be able to find them with a Locator Spell.  Dumbledore crossed the office to a map of England mounted on the wall and murmured a few words under his breath, waving his wand.  A silver spark shot out of the end of the wand and hovered over the map for a moment before settling on a single spot.  Dumbledore squinted at the name of the town just above the spark, which was still gleaming brightly.  

Godric's Hollow.  The Potters were in Godric's Hollow.  Without wasting a moment, Dumbledore dashed out of his office, hurrying along the corridors of the school until he reached the front doors.  He opened them and ran down the steps to the front lawn where he saw a huge figure leaning over, pruning a large, night-blooming hedge.  This figure was Rubeus Hagrid, the Gamekeeper of Hogwarts School.  

            "Hagrid!" Dumbledore called.  The huge man straightened up and turned.

            "Professor Dumbledore!  Wha's wrong?" Hagrid asked, brow furrowed.

            "James and Lily Potter," Dumbledore said, quickly.  "I fear the worst.  Go to Godric's Hollow, the children might have been spared.  Bring them to me.  I can send you there quickly, will you go?"

            "O' course, sir!  But wha's happened-?"

            "Sorry, Hagrid, no time for questions.  Voldemort should be long gone by now, we can only pray Heather and Harry are still there.  I'd go myself, but I must go straight to London and inform the Ministry of Magic of this event.  Now, are you ready?"

            "Yeah!  O' course!" Hagrid said quickly.

            "Thank you Hagrid.  Be as quick as you can," Then Dumbledore waved his wand once more and Hagrid vanished.  Dumbledore hurried off once more back to his office to dress before he was off to London.

~*~

On the edge of a small town there was a small, stone house.  This house was nothing interesting – in fact, you probably wouldn't notice it unless you were looking for it.  But Sirius Black _was_ looking for it as he shot through the sky on his huge flying motorbike.  

He'd always been very proud of this motorbike, but right now that was the last thing on his mind.  He was going to the hide out of his friend Peter Pettegrew.  

Due to recent events involving the Dark Lord Voldemort and Sirius' two best friends, the Potter family had been forced into hiding.  Peter was the only one who knew where they were – he was their Secret-Keeper in a complex and difficult hiding charm.  Because of this, Peter had also gone into hiding, so that Voldemort couldn't find him and get the Potter's whereabouts out of him.  Sirius had been asked to be the Secret-Keeper at first, but he had persuaded his friends to use Peter instead – Voldemort wouldn't expect that.  

Now, Sirius was going to check in on Peter to make sure he was all right.  And his house should be right about … here.

Sirius flipped a switch on his bike and felt himself loosing altitude as he dropped towards the ground.  The motorbike landed with a solid thud as it hit the street in front of Peter's new house.  Sirius turned off the bike and started up the front walk to the door, glancing about nervously to see if anyone was watching.  Upon reaching the door, Sirius knocked heavily.  

No answer.  

He knocked again and waited for several minutes.  An unexplainable fear passed through him and he couldn't figure out where it came from.  He tried the handle of the door and it opened easily.  

Hesitantly, Sirius called out, "Peter!  Peter, are you here?"  He shrugged and walked into the front hall, closing the door behind himself.  He went into the living room and saw that it was completely empty.  No chairs, no nothing.  Just four white walls and a fireplace.  Sirius thought this was a bit curious, but he didn't worry too much about it.  

That was until he searched the entire first floor and found the dining room and kitchen all just as empty as the living room.  His breath coming a bit quicker now, Sirius dashed up the stairs.  

The upstairs was the same as the down stairs – all empty.  Glancing into the last room, where Sirius was still hoping to find Peter and an explanation for the total lack of _anything_ in the house, he found the only piece of furniture in the entire building – a bed frame.  No mattress, no sheets – and no Peter.  

Sirius paused, staring into the bedroom.  What could it mean?  Peter hadn't even moved in!  Why wouldn't he be hiding?  It was for his protection…  

Then it hit him – Peter didn't want protection from Voldemort because he didn't _need _protection from Voldemort.  They were on the same side.  And that meant…  

Sirius cursed loudly and ran as fast as he could out of the house, taking the stairs two at a time.

~*~

            Heather and Harry's cribs shot across the room from the force of this last blow, slamming against the opposite wall.  More chunks of plaster fell out of the ceiling of the house, raining down on the floor.  Patricia giggled and clapped as she saw Lily Potter lying still on the floor.  She could hardly be heard over the noise the babies were making by now.  

            "And now," Voldemort said, "We finish this."  

He stepped towards the two twin children and stared down at them for a moment.  "No need to waste time doing a curse for each of them.  They're so small, one curse should finish them both.  Then, no one will stand in my way," he added in a low whisper.

            "Do hurry, their wailing is giving me a headache," she said, rubbing her forehead.

            "Step back," Voldemort commanded and raised his wand, unaware of the protection placed on the twins by their mother.  Patricia pouted, but complied, taking several paces backwards.

"_Avada Kedavra duos,_" he murmured.

The green beam of light shot once more from his wand and split into two identical rays, hitting both the children on their foreheads.  The green beams struck the twins in the head at the same instant, and for a moment, it seemed as if time had come to a grinding halt as the rays etched two identical lightning bolts into the children's foreheads.

Everything stopped.  There was no noise, no movement – even the world itself seemed to have stopped turning as every living being on the planet held its breath.  

Suddenly, time snapped back to normal speed and the light bounced off the babies and rocketed back at Voldemort himself, hitting him squarely in the chest and knocking him back through the air.  

Patricia screamed, but she was the only one who did, it appeared the children had both been knocked unconscious.  

Just before he hit the opposite wall, the Dark Lord simply _vanished_, his scorched robes falling to the floor and laying in a crumpled heap.  The beam that had carried him blasted into the wall, sending a deep crack up to the ceiling, a large chunk of which fell to the ground on top of Voldemort's things.  

There was a moment of stunned silence.  The children were both still unconscious with thin, lightning shaped gashes on their foreheads.  Patricia just stared at the wall – the last place she had seen her Master.  Then she fell to her knees, threw her head back and let out a long, piercing scream that sounded more like a banshee than a woman, and echoed through the neighborhood.  

Lights clicked on up and down the street; it seemed that the spell hiding this house from the neighbors had been broken at last as dogs joined in with Patricia's long wail, barking and howling mournfully.  When Patricia finally ran out of breath, she started choking and sobbing in gasps and whimpers.

"M-master!" she sobbed.  "Master!  Don't leave me!  Please!"  She wrapped her arms around her stomach and started to rock back and forth on her heals, whispering to herself.  "When the other Death Eaters find out, they won't believe me!  They won't believe that two babies stopped the Dark Lord!  They'll think I did it!  And they'll kill me!  I have to get away before they come!"

            She had gotten up, grabbed her broomstick, and was halfway to the back door before she stopped and started to talk to herself once again.  "Can't leave the scene of the crime.  Look suspicious.  Master wouldn't like me to leave him," she mumbled.  "When he comes back, he must know I was always loyal to him."

Patricia paused, then darted suddenly back to the children's beds, peering down at them.  "Of course!  I'll take them and give them to Master when he returns!  I'll be his favorite and no one will think I hurt him!"  

She reached down and scooped up Heather, who was heavier than she looked.  In her weakened condition, Patricia had a hard time holding Heather in one arm and holding her broom in the other – not to mention carrying the boy as well.  

Patricia was beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea when she heard footsteps pounding up the front stairs.  A man's voice bellowed out, "James!  Lily!"

Patricia hissed angrily and clambered onto her broom, still clutching the girl child, but leaving the boy behind.  She didn't have time to figure out how she could carry both children _and _fly her broom properly.  Besides, she could see a bit of the person who had just burst in bending over James Potter's body in the front room, and he was _huge._  It was now or never.  

Patricia McLean zoomed off into the inky black sky, still holding the little red haired child in her arms.  She soared over the neighborhood, over the town, over the country – off and away, taking Heather Potter with her and away from her twin brother.

~*~

Hurrying down the hallway of the main Ministry of Magic building with several other officials, Dumbledore felt as if a weight had suddenly been lifted from him.  A weight so old he had forgotten it wasn't supposed to be there in the first place.  He wondered what it was for only a moment before realizing – Voldemort.  Either he had been killed or badly injured.  

But how?  What could have possibly stopped him?  Had Hagrid done him in?  No, Hagrid couldn't use magic.  What then?  But whatever had done it, Dumbledore was sure that some great tragedy had befallen the Dark Lord, and he wasn't sorry a bit.  

Turning, he saw that the other witches and wizards in the hallway had stopped too, some were glancing around with confused looks on their faces, others were starting to smile – they had all felt it.  Wizards all over the country should be feeling it too – and now Dumbledore had another important thing to discuss with the Ministry.

~*~

            Rubeus Hagrid stopped dead in the middle of the street and stared at the sight before him.  The Potter house was a wreck.  The front door was gone, leaving a jagged hole in the wall.  The roof was falling in and the front windows were shattered.  

When Professor Dumbledore had asked him to go to the Potter's hideout and bring the children back because Lily and James were dead, Hagrid had hoped Dumbledore had been mistaken.  He hadn't known what to expect, but he truly hadn't expected _this_.  

He dashed towards the building and had to stoop low to get in the opening in the front of the house.  Hagrid was a very large man – huge, actually.  He was nearly two times as tall as a regular person and several times as wide.  He had bulging muscles, wild black hair and a long, bushy beard.  He was an astonishing sight – especially in the Potter's tiny hide out.  

"James!" he bellowed, "Lily!"  He looked around in horror – the dinner table was crushed by a fallen bookshelf, chunks of plaster had fallen to the floor and deep cracks ran through the walls.  Then Hagrid's eyes fell on the body of James Potter and he gasped.  There was no mistake – James was dead.  Hagrid bent down next to him and checked for a pulse, even though he was sure what he'd find.  

Forcing back the lump in his throat, Hagrid stood and ducked into the kitchen – nothing much in here except some broken glassware on the floor and a half full tea pot with a wand lying on the counter next to it.  

Hagrid sniffed, again trying not to cry.  He'd known Lily and James at Hogwarts – he'd been Gamekeeper then, too.  Lily and James and their gang – Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettegrew.  They'd been quite a bunch of troublemakers, but they'd never given Hagrid any problems - in fact, they'd been rather friendly with him.  Sweet kids, all of them.  And now…  

Two tears ran down Hagrid's cheeks and dripped into his beard.  Walking slowly, Hagrid went through the hallway and into the open door of the bedroom.  Seeing the sight in there, he let out a low moan.  Lily Potter lay on the ground, also dead.  But the Dark Mark hadn't been in the sky over the house…  

Hagrid looked around wildly, as if expecting to see Voldemort still lurking in the shadows - but no one was there.  

The Dark Mark was a huge green light image of a skull with a snake for a tongue.  Voldemort left it in the sky over all his victims, and Hagrid saw no reason why this should be any different.  Still glancing around, Hagrid saw something glittering under a large chunk of fallen ceiling.  Taking a step towards it, he bent down and picked it up.  It was an iron ring that looked like someone had started to melt it down but had stopped after a few minutes.  

Squinting, Hagrid was just able to make out the symbol carved into it: a skull with a snake for a tongue.  Hagrid gasped and dropped the ring – Voldemort's ring - wiping his hand on his pant leg as if the ring had poison on it.  Could Voldemort be _under_ the chunk of fallen ceiling?  Hesitantly, Hagrid lifted the piece of plaster and looked under it.  It was just a pile of black material.  

Tossing the plaster to the side, he lifted up the black rags and realized what they were – Voldemort's wizard robes, badly burned and torn, but definitely his robes.  Voldemort's ring and robes – all badly burned and without their owner.  Hagrid knew what he _thought_ this meant – but how was it possible?  He was so entranced by all this that he didn't here the distant roar that was growing louder by the second.

            Sirius Black dipped his flying motorbike under the clouds, searching the ground beneath him.  He remembered James saying something about Godric's Hollow; perhaps that was their hiding place.  

Then he saw it – a crumbled wreck of a house on the outskirts of the town.  This couldn't be it, could it?  He flipped the switch on his bike and dropped to the ground.  Sirius was off the bike and up the stairs front in the blink of an eye.  And there he was.  James, his best friend of twenty-three years, was lying dead on the floor.

"No," Sirius begged quietly, though he didn't even know who he was praying to.  He fell to his knees and shook his friend's shoulder weakly.  James couldn't be dead - he just couldn't be!

"Prongs," Sirius whispered, using James' old nickname.  The nickname Sirius had given him.  "Get up, Prongs, come on!"  

But James didn't move.  Reality sinking in, a lump rose in Sirius' throat.  He tried to force it back, but he couldn't.  A sob escaped him and he leaned forward over his best friend's body, his face buried in his hands.  "I'm so sorry, James.  I'm so, so sorry," he sobbed.  "It's all my fault.  I convinced you to change to Peter…I should have seen him for what he was.  I'm so sorry!"  Sirius sat there crying for several minutes before a gruff voice spoke from the kitchen.

            "Who's there?" it demanded.  Sirius jerked himself to his feet and raised his wand, just in case.  The speaker stepped into the front room and Sirius recognized him at once.  It was Rubeus Hagrid, the Gamekeeper of Hogwarts School.

"Sirius," Hagrid said, looking a little relieved, "I thought you was some one else.  I'm sorry," he added softly, glancing at James.  Sirius nodded, face pale, again trying to fight back tears and again losing.  "It's the same sight in there," Hagrid pointed towards the bedroom, voice cracking.

            "Lily-?"  Sirius asked, voice trembling.  Hagrid bowed his head, more tears leaking out of his black eyes.  Sirius moaned and hurried into the bedroom.  

Lily – his Lily, who was like a little sister to him – lay crumpled on the floor.  Sirius knelt beside her and stroked her face gently, his tears falling silently into her hair.  All he'd ever wanted to do was protect her, and instead he'd killed her.  "I'm so sorry, Lily.  Please forgive me.  Please…" 

But she didn't say anything.  Hagrid came into the room behind Sirius.  

"Where are the children?"  Sirius asked quietly without turning.

            "Harry's over there by the wall…" When he didn't go on, Sirius turned around to face him.

            "And where's Heather?"

            Hagrid hesitated.  "I dunno.  She's not in her crib."  Sirius jumped to his feet and was across the room in a flash, looking into the bassinettes.  Hagrid was right.  Heather was simply _gone_.  

But Harry was there, and lay dead with a thin, lightning shaped cut reaching from his hairline to the center of his forehead.  Sirius looked away, swallowing hard.

            "Help me look for Heather," Sirius called to Hagrid, starting to look around.  Hagrid immediately joined him.  They searched everywhere - under heaps of fallen plaster, under the bed, in the closet, in the kitchen, even in the front room under the fallen bookshelf.  Sirius avoided looking at James while he was there.  He just couldn't bear it.  He'd finally stopped crying and didn't start again.  He was in shock.  How could his friends be dead?  It simply wasn't possible.  He was looking under a chair for Heather when Hagrid called out.

            "Uh…Sirius?" Hagrid's voice was nervous.

            Sirius leapt to his feet.  "Did you find her?" he asked urgently.

            "No, I'm sorry.  But take a look at this," Hagrid led Sirius into the bedroom again and showed him the heap of scorched material that seemed to be all that was left of Voldemort.  "This can' be wha' I think it is, could it?" he asked uncertainly.  Sirius spotted the ring and picked it up, squinting to see the engraving on it.  

            "Voldemort's ring," he murmured. Hagrid automatically opened his mouth to reprimand Sirius for using You-Know-Who's name but stopped himself quickly.  Sirius looked at the burned robes again and was about to speak when they heard a faint whimper.  They looked around quickly, searching for the source of the noise.  

A baby's cry filled the room and Hagrid jumped, which was a bad idea in a house so un-sturdy.  The floor gave a loud groan but thankfully stayed intact.  

Slowly, almost as if he thought moving too quickly would shatter the ray of hope reaching out to him, Sirius crept towards Harry's crib and looked inside.  Harry was squirming around, trying to push off his blankets and wailing pitifully.  Sirius hesitated only an instant before picking up his godson and hugging him, careful not to let the baby see his dead mother.

"Shhh…" he whispered comfortingly – not unlike Lily had done only an hour ago.  

            "How-?" Hagrid started, bewildered, after Harry had calmed down a bit.

            "I don't know.  But it looks as if something bad has happened to Vol – sorry – You-Know-Who," Sirius replied, seeing Hagrid flinch at the sound of the Dark Lord's name.  "This lightning shaped cut on Harry's forehead – it's no normal cut.  I think it's the mark you get when an evil spell touches you.  So if You-Know-Who tried to kill Harry but couldn't do it, and those are his robes and his ring over there, burned…" he paused, letting Hagrid draw his own conclusions as he remembered something he'd felt while flying here.  He'd had a sudden lightness in his chest, as though something had finally gone right.  He'd forgotten it immediately when he saw the house nearly destroyed, but maybe it had meant something.  

"I can't see any other reasonable explanation," he said finally.  Sirius' eyes fell on Lily's body once more and he quickly looked away.  He had to make this up to them somehow.  

But how could he make up for something like this?  He'd killed them!  All he could do was try.  He'd start by finding Peter and making him pay.  And he'd find Heather.  If Harry was alive, she should be, too.  Moony would help him with all that…

Remus.  

How could he have ever thought that _Remus, _of all people, was the traitor?  When had Remus ever hung around people who were stronger, and smarter, and braver than himself?  When had Remus ever been weak?  And still, Sirius had suspected him.  

Sirius had been the weak one, and had given in to the prejudice that Moony had feared since he'd received the bite.  That was Sirius' third order of business: apologize to Remus.  And then…  He'd look after Harry and Heather.  Provide them with anything they needed.  Lily and James would've wanted it; they'd made Sirius the children's godfather, after all.  That was it.  That was what he had to do; the things Lily and James would be most worried about were their children.  "Hagrid, let me take Harry.  I'm his godfather – I'll look after him."

            "Well…" Hagrid looked uncertain.  "Professor Dumbledore told me ter bring him straight back…"

            "Hagrid, I'm sure Professor Dumbledore would agree that as Harry's godfather, I'm his legal guardian now," he felt like a fist of ice was squeezing his heart.  He shouldn't have ever had to say those words.  It shouldn't have been like this.  It wasn't fair.  Not for anyone.

Hagrid paused for another moment and then shook his head.  "I'm sorry, Sirius, but I have orders from Dumbledore.  I'm sure he just wants to see Harry's alrigh'.  He'll return him ter yeh as soon as everythin's in order."

Both Sirius and Hagrid looked up as they heard sirens in the distance.  

"Wha's that?" Hagrid asked, nervously.

            "Muggle police.  They're coming here," Sirius paused, thinking about what Hagrid had said.  He was right.  Dumbledore would give Harry back to Sirius as soon as he was sure it was safe.  And it would give Sirius time to find Heather.  Provided she was still alive… She couldn't have gotten far.  And then he'd find Peter.  Sirius was sure Dumbledore would help him.  And so would the Ministry.  They'd be furious- 

And then a horrible realization struck him.  Dumbledore and the Ministry _would_ be furious – but not with Peter.  The only people who knew that the Potters had changed Secret-Keepers were either dead, evil, or Sirius.  And of course no one would believe him.  He was framed – perfectly and completely.  It was just too much, on top of everything else that had happened to him.

He'd have to go into hiding for a while.  Maybe forever.  Sirius struggled with himself for a moment, then made a decision.  He'd give Harry to Dumbledore, find Peter, use Peter to clear his name, find Heather with Remus, and then he'd take care of his godchildren – like Lily and James had asked.  Sirius reluctantly handed Harry to Hagrid.  "All right, Hagrid.  Take him to Dumbledore.  And will you ask him to try and find Heather for me?"

            "O' course," Hagrid said, nodding as he accepted Harry into his arms.  

            They would have to get away fast; the Muggle police sirens were getting closer and soon the neighbors would be getting over their fear and coming to investigate for themselves.  Sirius couldn't take his bike.  Soon the entire wizarding world would be after him and a huge flying motorbike tended to stand out in a crowd.  

"Take my bike, Hagrid.  I won't need it anymore," Sirius said, though the words stuck in his throat.  He and James had worked on that bike together during the summer after sixth year.  In his mind, he could still hear James telling him that the motorbike was nothing compared to a broomstick, really, and Lily demanding that Sirius wear a helmet or a parachute or _something._  He'd never hear their voices again… 

"Hurry, there'll be trouble if the police find us here.  And take the robes and ring to Dumbledore.  See what he thinks."  

Hagrid nodded unhappily.  He'd hoped never to have to touch that filth again, but it seemed that there was no way around it.

            A minute later, the roar of Sirius' motorbike faded to silence just as the Muggle police cars pulled up in front of the Potter residence.  

Sirius Black took one last miserable look around and vanished, Apparating miles away.

~*~

            Patricia didn't know how long or how far she flew before she and Heather finally landed in a dirty little alley in some Muggle city.  All she knew was that the sun had risen and set again while they were in the air and that they'd spent almost the whole time over a huge body of water, which appeared to have been the Atlantic Ocean.  

It wouldn't have taken nearly so long to reach land if Patricia hadn't kept changing direction.  She'd be going west, then suddenly jerk her broom around and fly south for an hour or so, then head back east, then northwest, then west once more, and so on.  

The result was a very twisty and complicated path that Patricia hoped no one would be able to follow.  She was so weak with hunger and muscle cramping on top of the fact she was already dieing from her experience in Azkaban that the minute her feet touched the ground, she toppled over and couldn't get back up.  The end was near, she could feel it.  Before she died, she had to do something about this baby.  She was convinced that every Death Eater in Britain was hot on their trail, and if they found her with the baby, they might think she was protecting it.  

The child had fallen into a fitful sleep during the flight and woke up as Patricia hit the ground, dropping the baby next to her.  The girl started wailing once more and Patricia growled, annoyed.  The screaming was giving her a headache – or maybe that was the exhaustion.

Patricia wasn't going to live long enough to present this child to her Master.  She'd have to kill it herself.  Patricia reached up and wrapped her hands around the baby's neck, about to strangle it.  

Before she could start to squeeze, however, she fell into a dead faint.  She didn't wake up when lights from a nearby apartment clicked on, or when she was raised onto a stretcher and put in an ambulance ten minutes later.  

            A half hour after that, Heather Potter was sleeping again in the nursery section of a hospital in New York City.  Patricia McLean lay in a hospital room, attached to all sorts of Muggle machinery that was humming and beeping quietly.  A young woman with brown hair hovered over Patricia's bed, a frown on her face.  "Ma'am?"  She asked softly.  "Ma'am, can you hear me?"  

            Patricia slowly opened her eyes.  The woman spoke again, in an accent Patricia didn't recognize.  

            "My name is Cynthia Burk.  I need to ask you a few questions, okay?"  Patricia started to nod, but quickly stopped, her head hurt too much.  She could feel her death coming – and soon.  She had to do something about that child!  She wouldn't be alive to hand it over to her Master – the most she could do was avenge his death.  She tried to get up, but found that moving of any kind was a bad idea, and she suddenly felt as if she was about to faint.  

"Where is the child?"  Patricia asked Cynthia harshly.  Her voice came out in little more than a whisper.  

            "Don't worry," the woman said, smiling reassuringly.  "She's safe.  You'll be able to see her soon.  Now," she went on, pulling a pencil from behind her ear and touching the tip to a pad of paper, "Are you the girl's mother?"

            "I'm her nanny," Patricia invented.  If she couldn't hand the child over to her master, and couldn't kill her, the only thing she could do was shield her from all questions and the searching eyes of the wizard community by confabulating a story that would explain everything.  The girl child would remain hidden here in this Muggle city until the Dark Lord came for her himself.  He was all knowing.  He would find the child and realize what Patricia had been trying to do.  He'd honor her memory; perhaps even raise her from the dead.  After all, Patricia's Master could do anything.  

Comforted by this thought, Patricia told Cynthia a wild tale involving Mr. and Mrs. Evans, who had died in tragic accident overseas and had left their only child – Heather – to the nanny, as they had no relatives they spoke to.  She said that she had been taking a walk with Heather when a man had chased them and knocked Patricia down, stealing her gold.  

            "Gold?"  Cynthia asked, looking surprised.

            "My gold jewelry," Patricia amended, covering her mistake.  Her breath was coming in short gasps now, and the room was out of focus.  "Anyway, that's probably where Heather got that cut.  When I fell I must have dropped her.  But she's all right, you say?" she asked, with false concern.

            "How did you know she had a cut?" Cynthia asked, apparently oblivious to Patricia's question and her worsening condition.

            Patricia paused, racking her brains for an answer.  "I don't feel well," she said sharply.  "I need to see the doctor."  

Cynthia looked at Patricia as if seeing her for the first time.  She nodded quickly and dashed into the hall, calling for a doctor frantically.  She truly had not noticed how sick Patricia looked.  Perhaps the robber she had described had done her more harm than she thought.  

Despite all attempts made by the hospital, Patricia was dead within the hour, and, in a way, Heather Potter died with her, leaving homeless, helpless Heather Evans in her place.  

The next morning, Heather Evans was taken to a Muggle orphanage where she began the first day of her new life.

~*~

            The day after the attack on the Potter house, Sirius found Peter.  But Peter framed him yet again, this time by staging his own death.  Sirius had him cornered in the middle of a crowded Muggle street and Peter started loudly accusing Sirius of murdering Lily and James.  He'd then slipped his wand around behind his back and blown up the entire street, killing a dozen Muggles in the process.  

In the confusion that followed, Peter transformed into a rat (How fitting.  Sirius realized for the first time.) and scurried into the sewers.  Ministry officials had arrived in seconds, but it hadn't mattered at that point; Sirius wasn't going anywhere.  

He had stood there, in shock.  It had finally struck him that his best friends were dead, that their daughter was dead, and that his godson would never know him or his family.  

And it was all Sirius' fault.  He deserved what he got.  He deserved it and so much more.  He let them cart him off to Azkaban, where he would remain for years and years, while the Dementors slowly sucked his life away.

~*~

            Almost ten years after the murder of the Potters and the arrest of Sirius Black, Minerva McGonagall sat in her office staring at a roll of parchment.  She was a rather severe looking woman with a sharp, beak-like nose and dark hair pulled tightly into a bun.  Silver rimmed square glasses framed her beady eyes, which traveled quickly down the paper in her hand.  

She was the Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and, as such, it was her job every year to send notices off to the new group of Hogwarts students, informing them of their acceptance to the school.  

The scroll she held in her hands was a list of the names for the students she was to send letters to, but one of the names didn't belong. 

'_Heather Potter'_.  

Professor McGonagall stared at the name for a few long moments, her eyes welling with tears.  Blinking furiously, she pulled a yellowed Daily Prophet clipping from the top drawer of her desk.  It was dated seven years ago, but she could still remember reading it for the first time.  

**TWO-YEAR SEARCH FOR HEATHER POTTER ENDS**

'When Harry Potter was discovered alongside the bodies of his parents, Lily and James Potter, he became a hero who will live in our hearts for ever.  But as the magical community knows, the Potters had another child, Harry's twin sister Heather.  The one-year-old girl was not found at the scene and a desperate search headed by the Ministry of Magic began. 

Over the past two years, our reporters have followed this search closely, as our readers are aware.  Yet after all this time, the Ministry has still failed to discover the little girl or any clues leading to her whereabouts.  

Horatio Featherstone, the Minister for Magic, said today, 'Our officers have not yet found the child and are now completely convinced that she, in fact, never left the Potter house.'  He stated that Dark Arts experts have been investigating the properties of the Killing Curse – the one that murdered Lily and James Potter and attempted to kill their son.  These experts say that it is most likely that Heather, unlike her brother, did not survive the Curse and (as she was so small and the Curse is designed to kill adults) her body was simply 'vaporized'.  

This theory is believed to be fact by all Ministry officials and all other prominent wizarding groups.  Heather Potter was pronounced dead and the Minister himself signed her Death Certificate early this morning.  Mr. Peter Stratton, a researcher for the Ministry of Magic, informed the crowd…'

The article went on to describe the properties of the Killing Curse and had a very touching paragraph at the bottom about the tragedy of a child's death, but the Professor wasn't reading anymore.  

She knew the entire article by heart, but she didn't wanted to believe it.  The Potter twins had been on the Hogwart's student list since the day they were born.  Professor McGonagall never thought she'd have to do this, but she didn't have a choice.  Slowly, her eyes brimming with tears, she lifted her quill and crossed out Heather's name.

~*~

_James and Lily Potter lay dead and Sirius Black, their best friend, sat rotting in the most terrible prison in the world.  The Potter twins were an ocean away from each other, both living with people that would never understand them.  And the Dark Lord Voldemort was hidden away, biding his time, still weakened by his run in with little Harry and Heather Potter.  _

_Years later, all that started to change._

~*~

A/N  Well?  What did ya think?  You could tell your computer screen, but it'll be a while before it answers.  I suggest that instead, you fill out the little review box directly below.  It'll be more appreciated by me, anyway. 

**            Praise is always welcome, so is constructive criticism, and flames if you just can't resist.**

**            I'd also like to say that, while doing my editing on this piece, I made Peter a bit less of an evil rat than he was before.  I know, I know – I hate him too (boy, do I ever!) but I just didn't think it was logical for the Marauders to have been friends with him if he was an evil little back-stabber by nature.  He's weak, obviously, and selfish – certainly.  But maybe not innately evil.  Don't worry – he gets a little eviler in the next part.**

**Speaking of which, I feel that the next section is better, so don't completely give up hope if you didn't like this.  In any case, thank you for making it this far, and I hope to meet you in the review section!**


	2. Very Much Alive

**A/N Ok, here's the next part!  Thanks to everyone who reviewed, I REALLY wasn't expecting anything so soon!  And I'm REALLY sorry it took me so long to get this part up!**

**To those of you who pointed out that Lily's maiden name was Evans…when I wrote this story, I didn't even know ff.n existed.  And in the books, Lily's maiden name is never mentioned; 'Evans' was just adopted by the ff community.  The point is, I just made up both names randomly and by the time I found out about the whole Lily Evans thing, I had already gotten so used to Heather Evans, I didn't want to change it and I thought it would be too weird to have them both be Evans.  So, to make a short story long, that's what happened.**

**Hope you all enjoy this part as much as you did the last!**

**DISCLAIMER:  I don't own it, not making any money, just trying to hold myself over till the fifth book! : )  This is all J.K. Rowling's except Heather and Prof. Bassett.  But she is most definitely welcome to them both!**

                        _Four years later…__#4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, England ~ Muggle World_

Harry Potter woke up suddenly, panting and covered with sweat.  He'd had that dream again.  He'd been having it off and on for the past month, but whenever he woke up, he couldn't remember it at all.  All he knew was that it was a dreadful nightmare that somehow involved his twin sister.  Harry slouched back against his pillows, taking deep, calming breaths.  

Glancing at the calendar on his wall, he saw he had something else to think about – his birthday was tomorrow.  Harry's heart did a little flip flop.  He didn't expect any presents from his Aunt and Uncle, but you didn't turn fifteen every day.  Besides, he was sure his best friends from school, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, would send him something good.  

Instead of living with his parents, Harry lived with the Dursley family: Aunt Petunia (his mother's sister), Uncle Vernon, and their enormously fat son, Dudley.  Harry's parents and twin, Heather, had died in what the Dursleys had told him for eleven years was a car crash.  Four years ago, Harry had found out the truth – his family had been murdered by the most powerful Dark wizard in over one hundred years: Lord Voldemort.  When Voldemort attacked the Potter house, Harry and his sister were only babies, yet somehow Voldemort had been unable to kill Harry.  Wizards everywhere said that when Voldemort (or You-Know-Who, as they still referred to him) had been unable to kill Harry Potter, his power had somehow been broken, leaving him weak and abandoned by his followers.  Defeating the Dark Lord had made Harry very famous in the wizarding world, even if he wasn't famous with the people he'd been sent to live with.  

When he was just a year old, Harry had been left with his mother's sister's family who were Muggles (non-magical people) and hated Harry deeply because of his magical blood.  They were terribly ashamed of his 'abnormality', and lived in fear of the neighbors finding out the real story of their nephew.  For nearly eleven years, they had hoped to keep him downtrodden enough to stomp 'that ridiculous magical nonsense' out of him.  But on Harry's eleventh birthday, the truth had finally come out: Harry was a wizard, just like his father.  He had been sent off to Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, much to the disgust and fury of his relatives, and was now counting the days until he could return there for his fifth year at the school.  

Had it really been five years?  It seemed like just yesterday he'd been boarding the Hogwarts Express for the first time, terrified that he'd be sent back to the Dursleys for not being good enough at magic.  But he hadn't been sent back.  On the contrary, when he'd arrived at Hogwarts he'd immediately become one of the most popular students at the school.  The other children had grown up hearing his name and his story, he was a legend to them – great Harry Potter who defeated the Dark Lord and saved them all.  It had been quite a shock, but after all these years, people had gotten used to him being around, and he was mostly treated like everyone else.  But when he stepped outside the school, people still pointed and stared at him, mouths hanging open, as soon as they noticed the thin, lightning bolt shaped scar that ran down his forehead.  This was his only souvenir of his run in with Voldemort – that, and the memory of a flash of green light, babies wailing, and a high, cold laugh.  

Tracing his scar with his forefinger, Harry let his mind slip back to the dream he had awoken so suddenly from.  What had happened?  Voldemort had been there, as had Heather…  Thinking about his twin, Harry felt a pang in his chest.  What would it have been like to have a twin sister?  Even if their parents had died, at least he'd have had someone to talk to when living with the Dursleys got to be too much.  When he was frightened, or missed his parents…how much would it have meant to him to have someone who would understand completely?  But thinking like that only made him feel worse.  Although they'd probably never said a word to each other, Harry longed for his sister deeply.  He took another breath and tried as hard as he could to remember his dream.  

He thought hard for several minutes before giving up with a sigh.  He couldn't understand how he had survived Voldemort's curse while Heather had died.  Dumbledore had told Harry that he'd survived because his mother had died to save him.  He'd said that love as deep as his mother's for him had been the only thing strong enough to block the curse.  But if that was the case, Heather should still be here.  Surely his mother hadn't just died for Harry, leaving Heather to fend for herself.  Of course not!  Harry may not know his mother, but he certainly knew she wouldn't do anything like that.  Perhaps Voldemort had killed Heather, and then their mother had come in and could only stop him from killing Harry.  Yes, that was it.  But Harry didn't feel any better by having an answer.  His family was still gone.  

Ever since he'd been able to understand what it meant when Aunt Petunia said his parents and sister were dead, Harry had had dreams about all of them.  Mostly, though, they were about his sister.  They were usually just silly, typical, dream-like things – when he was ten he'd dreamt that he and his sister were eating dandelion flavored ice cream and watching a panting, sweating Dudley do push-ups, his flabby stomach never leaving the ground.  This dream probably had more to do with the fact that Harry had spent most of the day before the dream weeding Aunt Petunia's vast flower gardens while Dudley had laughed then it had to do with his sister.  But then Harry could also remember horribly realistic dreams about his sister being killed, or his sister calling for him to save her, or his sister being tortured.  In all of these dreams, Harry had tried to help, but his legs had been stuck firmly in place.  The awful nightmares had started when Harry had come to Hogwarts, since it was then he'd found out what had _really_ happened to his sister.  In his third year, Harry had woken up the other four boys in his dormitory by shouting out Heather's name in his sleep.  He'd woken with a yelp the moment the boys had pulled back his bead curtains to see what was the matter.  Harry's best friend, Ron, had calmed him down and told him what he'd just been shouting.  

'It was your sister's name, Harry.  What were you dreaming?'  Ron had asked, looking alarmed.

'Nothing.  I don't want to talk about it.'  Harry had said sharply, turning his back on his friends.  They hadn't asked again, and he hadn't told them.  It had actually been a particularly vivid dream about his sister being tortured, but Harry hadn't felt like sharing that with the boys.  In fact, he'd never told Ron or Hermione about these dreams.  He didn't know why, it just didn't seem like something you would discuss openly.  But the dream Harry had just woke from wasn't the usual torture or death dream, he was quite sure it was the same dream he'd been having ever since Voldemort had returned last year.  If only he could remember what it was about…but he couldn't, and that was that.  Harry lay back down and closed his eyes, wondering if he should write and tell Ron or Hermione about the dreams, but quickly decided against it.  He could just picture it,

_Dear Ron,_

_How are you?  I'm fine, but I keep having this nightmare I can't remember with my sister in it.  Anyway, I'll see you in September.  Bye!_

_                                    -Harry_

Right.  

No, Harry wasn't going to do that.  The only person he could imagine telling about his dreams was his godfather – Sirius Black.  

Harry had only even heard about his godfather two years ago when it had got into both the Muggle and wizard news that the murderer Sirius Black had escaped from prison.  It had been a much bigger story among wizards, as Sirius was the only one ever to have escaped from Azkaban Prison, unless you counted some batty old Death Eater called Patricia McLean, but even then, Voldemort had had to bribe the Dementors to get her out.  Everyone still believed that Sirius had murdered a dozen Muggles along with Peter Pettegrew years ago.  They also believed that Sirius had been Voldemort's right hand man, and had betrayed Lily and James Potter to his Master.  Harry and his friends had believed this too, until they'd come face to face with Black and he'd told them the true story.  Thinking about this memory, Harry sighed sadly.  For just a few minutes that night, Harry had thought that he would be able to leave the Dursleys forever and live with Sirius.  That had been before Peter had escaped and everything had gone wrong.  So Harry was stuck here with his Aunt and Uncle every summer until he graduated from Hogwarts in three years.  Then he'd leave and never come back…  

Yes, it would've been nice to go live with Sirius, but Harry's godfather was still on the run from the Ministry.  However, Harry's pet owl Hedwig always knew where to find him to deliver Harry's letters.  Maybe he'd send a letter to Sirius about his nightmares.  He'd like to know how he was doing anyway.  Yes, that was what Harry would do.  But it could wait until tomorrow; he was tired.

~*~

                        _Same night, #11 Bashful Badger Rd., Albany, New York, United States ~ Muggle World_

            Heather Evans flopped back on her bed.  No, not my bed.  She reminded herself.  THE bed.  It's mine now, but not for long.  She stared up at the white ceiling for a moment, then tilted her head to survey the room.  

Against the far wall was a window with a big lumpy armchair beside it.  Against the next wall was a desk covered with all sorts of stuff – mostly just loads of stupid junk that Heather had acquired over her last 14 years as an orphan.  Against the opposite wall was the bookshelf, which was crowded with tons of books.  All four walls were plastered with posters of the hottest bands, the hottest TV shows, the hottest guys…  The faces of all her role models smiled down at her from their places around the room – Gwen Stefani, Alanis Morissette, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and more.  Heather deeply respected woman who had pulled their act together and made it big all on their own.  She hoped to be like that some day.  As opposed to now, when she was just a ward of the state, bounced from lame foster home to lame foster home…

Since she had been orphaned at the age of one, Heather Evans had lived in no less than 10 different homes across New York– not counting the orphanage she'd spent a lot of her time at.  Right now she was living with the Parkers, the tenth family to take the 'Heather Challenge'.  That's what Michelle, the woman who ran the orphanage, had started to call it.  Heather liked Michelle a lot.  Michelle didn't feel sorry for her, and that was nice.  

This was definitely one of the worst houses she could remember being in.  But, then, they were all pretty bad.  And the Parkers weren't mean, they were just annoying.  Mrs. Parker couldn't have children, so they had three other foster children besides Heather – Michael, a greasy little twelve year old who always mouthed off and mumbled, Vinnie – a two year old monster bent on tearing the house apart, and Becca – a nine month old who's 18 year old mother had put her up for adoption immediately after she was born.  

The Parkers didn't seem to notice Becca's constant wailing, Michael's sullen behavior, Vinnie's destructive tendencies, or Heather's sulking.  They were constantly cheerful.  Sometimes, Heather took pity on them and helped around the house, changing Becca's diapers or keeping Vinnie from drawing on the walls.  Mostly, though, she sat in her room and read old Teen magazines and wondered how long this family would last.  

            The only family she'd ever really liked was the Hunts.  They'd lasted almost two years, when Heather was 10 and 11.  They'd seemed to realize that Heather was too old to ever feel like they were her real parents, so they acted more like a favorite aunt and uncle.  The Hunts had respected her, understanding that she was more mature than most girls her age, and treated her accordingly.  

But Mrs. Hunt had been diagnosed with cancer and they'd decided it would be best if they put Heather back in the orphanage.  Best for whom, Heather didn't know.  It certainly wasn't best for her, and she was sure that she could have helped them out during Mrs. Hunt's chemotherapy sessions –she could've helped Mr. Hunt with the house, she could've kept Mrs. Hunt company while her husband was at work...  But they hadn't explained WHY it was best to throw her away, just that it was best.  

People hardly ever explained why they got rid of her.  Of course, they usually didn't need to.  When Heather was four, the Rosenbergs had returned her to the orphanage after Mrs. Rosenberg had found Heather's closet full of snakes.  Mrs. Rosenberg had been scolding Heather for getting dirty when the closet door had burst open on its own and a dozen snakes had come pouring out, hissing at the woman angrily.  Heather had tried to explain that the snakes were friendly and they'd promised they wouldn't leave the room, but all this resulted in was the Rosenbergs thinking she was mentally unstable for believing she could talk to snakes.  It didn't help that Mrs. Rosenberg was mortally afraid of reptiles and had fainted at the sight of them slithering out of the closet.  To this day, Heather couldn't imagine how the closet door had opened; she was sure she'd locked it.  As for her talking to snakes - that was ridiculous.  She'd been four years old – all four-year-old kids played around like that!  

With the Becks she'd gotten in trouble for shattering an ugly vase while her foster brother, Joshua Beck, had been teasing her for being an orphan.  Joshua had been telling her how he'd heard his parents say that no one wanted her and how she'd been tossed from home to home.  He was in the middle of asking what was wrong with her, and she'd been glaring fixedly at a vase just to the right of his head, when, quite suddenly, the vase had simply exploded.  Though Heather had told them that she hadn't done anything, it didn't do any good.  It turned out that the vase contained Grandma Beck's ashes, and it was back to the orphanage for Heather.  

She didn't feel sorry for herself about either of these incidents, or most of the other times she'd been returned.  She hadn't liked the Rosenbergs, they didn't let her play outside, or run around, or do anything that wasn't 'lady like'.  And Heather had _hated_ Joshua Beck, and didn't miss him a bit, even though she _was_ sorry for what had happened to the old lady's ashes.  In fact, if she thought back to every time something like that had happened, she realized that it had only been when she was very angry.  Mrs. Rosenberg had been yelling at her for getting dirty, Joshua had been making fun of her, and in her last home Mrs. Chase had been telling Heather exactly why she wasn't perfect when the woman's hair had started on fire.  All these things could be explained logically, if you stretched you imagination a bit.  The pressure of all the snakes against the locked door _might_ have pushed it open, and a sudden burst of wind through an open window _could_ have knocked the vase of ashes off the mantle piece, and Ms. Chase had been curling her hair with a hot curling iron while she had been describing to Heather just why her red hair was so dreadful.  Yes, that was why those things had happened.  Still, things like that seemed to happen to Heather an awful lot.  

            Sitting up, Heather spotted her reflection in the mirror.  She stared at herself in the mirror for a few moments.  Heather Evans was a tall, slim girl, and rather pretty.  She had a classic oval face with a light complexion to go with her auburn hair.  Her large, gray eyes were framed by dark lashes and arched eyebrows.  She had full, pink lips that were perfect for pouting, but she hadn't pouted since she was about eight.  Her eyes traveled up her face and rested on her forehead, where there was probably her most interesting feature.  A thin, lightning shaped scar ran from her hairline to nearly the center of her forehead.  Right now it was barely visible under a skillful make-up job.  You wouldn't notice it unless you knew it was there, and almost no one did.  At the age of twelve, when Heather had started caring what she looked like, she had decided the scar didn't do much for her looks and had covered it up.  

When she was old enough to understand, Michelle had explained to her about her parents – Judith and Lawrence Evans – and how they had died in an accident over seas.  Michelle also said Heather had gotten the scar when her nanny had dropped her when attacked by an armed robber in the streets of New York City.  Her nanny had died shortly after.  Sometimes, when Heather thought really hard, she could just remember a flash of green light and a burning pain in her forehead.  She supposed this was the attack, but she had no idea where all the green light had come from.  She didn't really care, though.  She was more interested in her parents, of whom she had no memory.  Heather knew her face by heart; she'd stared at it in many mirrors many times before, trying to remember her parents.  Maybe those had been her mother's lips, her father's nose…maybe it was her grandmother's hair.  Not for the first time, Heather wondered if she had any brothers or sisters.  Her nanny had told precious little before she'd died in that hospital room.  Oh, well.  That's the way the cookie crumbles.  Heather thought, smiling at Michelle's old expression.  Sighing again, Heather headed for the kitchen and opened the freezer to look for ice cream.

~*~

                        _3 weeks later, Diagon Alley, London, England ~ Magical world_

            "Harry!  Ron!  Over here!"  A voice called out from across the bustling street in Diagon Alley.  Harry Potter and his best friend, Ron Weasley, turned and saw their other best friend, Hermione Granger, making her way towards them.  

            "Hey, Hermione!"  Harry said happily to the beaming girl in front of him.  Hermione was medium height with thick, brown curls and brown eyes.  She was very smart and always the best at everything.  Ron was almost her opposite, he was tall and gangly – although he seemed to have grown out of that a bit over the summer.  Ron had the flaming red hair and freckles that were characteristic of the entire Weasley family, which consisted of Ron, his five older brothers, his younger sister, and his parents.  And Ron, like Harry, wasn't half as obsessed with studying as Hermione.  The three friends eyed each other for a moment before Hermione spook up.  "Harry, you're as tall as Ron!"  She exclaimed.  Ron glanced at over at Harry as if seeing him for the first time.

"She's right!"  He said, surprised.  Harry grinned, pleased that they'd noticed.

"You've grown as well, Ron!"  Hermione added.  Ron looked proud.

"Yep!  I'm taller than Dad now!"  Both boys looked at Hermione closely.  She'd aged as well.  Finally, looking embarrassed, Ron said,  "You're…taller, too, Hermione."  Hermione smiled.

"You do look quite a bit older," Harry admitted.  Her hair wasn't quite as frizzy as usual, and it looked as though she were wearing make-up.  She was actually rather pretty!  There was a slightly awkward pause in which everyone was very flattered and a bit embarrassed.  Then Hermione broke the silence.

"Have you bought anything yet?" She asked, excitedly, "I've just been to Flourish and Blotts and I've got all my school books.  I've looked through the Transfiguration book and we're finally starting…" Hermione chatted on happily as the small group started to walk down the street aimlessly.  Harry listened with half his mind as Hermione talked excitedly about all their core subjects – Transfiguration, History of Magic, Charms, Herbology, Astronomy, Care of Magical Creatures, Defense Against the Dark Arts ("I wonder who we'll have for a teacher this year!"), and Potions.  Well, she wasn't too excited about Potions – even Hermione hated that class.  Professor Snape taught it and he was almost everyone's least favorite teacher.  

As head of Slytherin House, Snape favored his own house students and was very cruel to the others, especially Harry.  James Potter, Harry's father, had been in the same year as Snape when they were students at Hogwarts and the two had been archrivals – Snape was always jealous of James' popularity and skill in school and at Quidditch.  Although Snape taught Potions, everyone knew he wanted the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, even though people said it was cursed.  It probably was, too.  Every year that Harry had been at Hogwarts, he'd had a different teacher.  Apparently this had been going on even before Harry and his friends came to the school.  

            "How long have you been here?" Hermione asked, bringing Harry out of his reverie.  

            "About half an hour," Ron answered, "Harry's gotten new robes, and Mum's getting our books," The Weasley family had kindly offered to take Harry shopping for his school supplies for next year.  He was very grateful they'd brought him; his Uncle Vernon wasn't about to drive him into London to buy spell books.

            "I need to go to the apothecary," Harry stated suddenly, "I'm running out of supplies," So the group headed with new purpose towards a shabby building near the end of the Alley.  

            "After that, we have to go to Quality Quidditch Supplies!" Ron said, eyes aglow, "I hear they're working on a new broom and they've got a model on display!"  

Harry nodded eagerly.  Quality Quidditch Supplies was both his and Ron's favorite store in the Alley, and Harry was really looking forward to the new season of Quidditch at Hogwarts; he'd missed playing almost as much as he'd missed his friends.  Two years ago, Harry had helped win the Cup for Gryffindor, ending Slytherin's seven-year winning streak.  Thinking back, the memory still made Harry grin.  

            Two hours later, they'd finished their shopping and were heading back to Flourish and Blotts to meet Hermione's parents and Ron's family.  Ron and Harry were talking so intently about the new Firebolt II coming out next spring that it took a moment to notice Hermione wasn't beside them.  Turning around they saw she'd stopped dead a few meters behind them and was staring at them intensely.  Both boys looked at her curiously.

            "What's up, Hermione?"  Harry asked, concerned.  Hermione's eyes were sparkling, her face was flushed and she looked like she was about to explode.

            "Well, don't you want to _know_?"  She asked, fairly bursting with held back emotion.

            "Know what?"  Ron asked, sharing an uneasy glance with Harry, who looked just as stumped as he did.  Hermione finally went off.

            "'Know what?'" She repeated, "'Know what?'  Don't you want to know if I was made Prefect?"

            "Oh!"  Ron said, surprised.  "Right!"  He'd obviously just figured out what Hermione was talking about.

            "So, did they make you a Prefect?" Harry prompted, already knowing the answer.  Hermione's face split into a broad grin and she looked like she was about to start dancing right there in the middle of the street.  

            "YES!" She cried, ecstatic, "I'm a Gryffindor Prefect!"  Harry couldn't imagine why it had come as a surprise to her, but her joy was contagious and Harry and Ron grinned along with her.

            "Congratulations!" Harry exclaimed.

            "That's great, Hermione," Ron said, laughing, as they started to walk again, "That's really great.  Just don't start acting like Percy, ok?" He asked, making a face.  Percy was Ron's third oldest brother who'd graduated Hogwarts just a year ago.  Percy had been a Prefect and then became Head Boy, and had never let Ron or anyone else forget it.  It had driven Ron mad.  Now Percy was working for the Ministry of Magic.

            "How is Percy?"  Hermione asked, much calmer now that her news was out in the open.  

            "He's spent all summer working overtime at the Ministry," Ron said, rolling his eyes.  "Sucking up to everyone.  He goes on and on about it whenever he's home, can't have a decent conversation with him."  By this time, they'd reached the bookstore and Harry could see five of the Weasleys standing outside it, all of them with Ron's vibrant red hair.  Mrs. Weasley was scolding Fred and George – it seemed they'd been trying to set off a Dungbomb in a shop.  Ginny Weasley, Ron's fourteen-year-old sister, was flipping through her school books – Harry noticed that some of them were second hand; the Weasleys were always rather short on money.  Looking up, Ginny saw Harry and smiled shyly at him before burying her face behind her book, blushing furiously.  

Ron turned to Harry and winked.  "She's been talking about you all summer," he whispered as Hermione hurried forward to say hello to Ginny, "You'd think she knew you better than me!"  Glancing over at the group, Harry noticed Mr. Weasley deep in conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Granger, Hermione's parents.  The Grangers were Muggles, all except for Hermione.  She and her family hadn't even heard of Hogwarts until she'd gotten the letter saying she was accepted.  

Mr. Weasley was fascinated by the Grangers.  He worked in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department at the Ministry of Magic, and the Weasley's shed was filled with broken down Muggle junk that Mr. Weasley had taken apart, put spells on, and put back together.  Standing near him, Harry heard a snippet of conversation.  

            "Fascinating!  So how exactly does the toaster – is that how you say it? – how does that work?" Mrs. Granger smiled and started to explain, but Harry didn't hear her answer because at that moment, Mrs. Weasley got done yelling at Fred and George and turned to Ron and Harry. 

            "Hello, dears," she said with a motherly smile, "Did you get everything you need?  Here are your books by the way," she added, handing each boy a bag.

            "Thanks, Mum."

            "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said.  Mrs. Weasley beamed at him and turned to her husband.

            "Arthur, dear, we'd better get going, Harry's aunt and uncle will be worrying about him."  Harry seriously doubted that the Dursleys even remembered he was gone, but he kept this to himself.  "Do you need a ride to King's Cross Station on the first?" Ron's mother asked him kindly.

            "No, thank you," Harry said, "Uncle Vernon said he'd take me," he added, smirking at the memory:

            _"Why should I take you to London?"  Uncle Vernon had asked with an ugly sneer, "I don't want you going to that freak place.  Why should I spend my time getting you there?  You'll have to find another way to get to the station, boy."_

_            "Ok," Harry had said, unconcernedly.  "My godfather could probably pick me up here and take me.  You know, the convicted murderer?  He'll want to meet you, of course.  I've told him everything about you."  Uncle Vernon's big, purple face had gone white.  Aunt Petunia's pasty skin had turned an unnatural shade of green and she'd gasped, horrified.  They'd quickly agreed to take Harry to King's Cross the following week and he'd gone off to bed smugly._

            "Alright.  Off we go, then.  Fred, George, Ginny, Ron, Harry, Arthur…" She ran through the list of people quickly, pointing to each of them in turn to make sure they were still there.  Harry understood this; with nine family members you had to be careful.  "Everyone here?  Good.  Come on.  Goodbye, Anne – it was so nice to see you!  She called over her shoulder to Mrs. Granger. 

            "Bye Hermione!"  Ron and Harry said waving.  "Congratulations!"

            "Bye, see you on the train!"  Hermione called, grinning again.  "Bye Ginny!" 

All too soon, Harry was back in the Dursley's house – rather a bad ending to a splendid day.

~*~

                        _Later that day, Unknown location, Great Britain ~ Magical world_

            Lord Voldemort leaned back in his throne.  It was the same throne he'd had years ago, when he ruled the magical world with fear.  But now he wasn't nearly as strong as he'd been back then.  His powers were still greatly drained, and what he was about to do wouldn't help in that respect.  Peter Pettegrew entered the room, trembling slightly.  Voldemort ignored him, instead fixing his eyes on what Peter carried – a roll of paper and a crystal knife, which had a smear of dark blood on the blade.  Peter bowed respectfully and handed his Master the objects.  Voldemort took them without glancing at their carrier, and Peter backed away, gratefully.  Since Harry Potter had gotten away from the Dark Lord yet again, Voldemort had been in a very bad temper.  

            Voldemort spread the paper (which was a map of the world) across his lap and placed the knife in a vertical position above the map before letting go of it.  Instead of clattering to the floor, the knife hung suspended in mid-air.  Voldemort drew a deep breath and began to chant, channeling his power into the knife, willing it to tell him what he wanted to know.  

The blood on the knife belonged to Patricia McLean, one of Voldemort's favored followers.  He'd enchanted the knife long ago to be able to find the owner of the blood it carried.  He did this with all Death Eaters in his Inner Circle, so that if they ever got the mind to betray him, he wouldn't have any problem tracking them down.  Patricia had been with him the night of his attack on the Potters, but no one seemed to know where she'd gone from there.  This spell was a last resort, as it drained much of the caster's strength, and the Dark Lord had very little of that as it was.  But the spell must be done.  Voldemort was almost certain that Patricia had taken the Potter's other child with her, wherever she'd gone.  It would be very helpful to have Heather Potter on his side, if she could be persuaded.  If not, she'd make a lovely hostage.  The knife started to spin, then touched down on a spot in England – Godric's Hollow  The knife then proceeded to move west, scratching a deep line in the paper to show Patricia's path.  

            After nearly a quarter of an hour, the knife fell to the floor, where it broke.  Voldemort, nearly collapsing himself, knew what the breaking of the knife meant.  The place that Patricia had finally stopped was her deathbed.  Voldemort leaned forward to read the place's name – New York City.  The knife had given a little shudder there before falling, signaling that the city was the place Patricia had met her end.  As Voldemort's followers lifted him from his throne and carried him off to rest, he fought off exhaustion.

"Wormtail," he croaked weakly.

            "Yes, my Lord?" Peter asked, nervously clenching and unclenching his metal hand.  Voldemort had given him that hand after the real one had been cut off as a sacrifice to the Dark Lord last year.  

            "Go to New York City," Voldemort said hoarsely, gasping for breath, "Patricia died there.  That is where she left Heather Potter.  Find her!  Bring her to me!  Now!"  And with that, the Dark Lord fainted.  Peter stopped dead in the hallway and watched the Death Eaters carry his master away.  His watery eyes darted around the stone walls of the corridor.  There was nothing he could do.  It was off to New York for him.

~*~

                        _That moment, #4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, England ~ Muggle World_

            Harry Potter sat bolt upright and clapped a hand to his forehead, wincing in pain.  He leaned forward onto his desk, almost knocking his ink well to the floor.  He felt as if his scar were on fire.  As quickly as it had started, the pain stopped and the room came back into focus.  Harry shook his head to clear away the last remnants of the blinding headache that had just come over him, trying to figure out what it meant.  He stared down at his desktop, not really seeing his History of Magic Essay.  Every time his scar hurt like that, it meant that Voldemort was planning something dreadful.  Last year, when Voldemort had come back, Harry had almost fainted from the blinding pain.  During his first year, when Voldemort inhabited the body of one of his followers and then tried to kill Harry, he'd been unconscious for several days afterward.  This was definitely not a good sign.  Pushing his books and homework aside, Harry started writing a letter to his godfather.  Sirius would know what to do.

~*~

            _            That moment, #11 Bashful Badger Rd., Albany, New York, United States ~ Muggle world_

            There was the hollow clunk of plastic hitting the floor as Heather dropped her glass of water, gasping for air.  The scar on her forehead was burning like someone had tried to carve it out with a blunt knife.  She clutched the counter to support herself.  Slowly, the pain started to fade away.  "Heather!" A voice said worriedly, "What's wrong?  Are you alright?"  It was Mrs. Parker, who looked frantic.  

            "I'm fine," Heather mumbled, embarrassed as she glanced around at the people staring at her.  Vinnie had stopped throwing his crackers, Michael had stopped sulking to gape at her, and Mr. and Mrs. Parker looked very concerned.  Heather glanced down and saw the puddle of water spreading across the tile floor.  "Oh, great!  I'm really sorry, Mrs. Parker," Heather exclaimed, bending down to clean up her mess, "Here, I'll just-"

            "No, no, no!" Mrs. Parker, exclaimed, pulling the girl to her feet.  "You go sit down over there.  I'll pick this up."  Heather protested, but Mrs. Parker insisted and, in the end, won.  Leaning back in an armchair, Heather closed her eyes, worriedly.  This wasn't the first time her scar had hurt.  Just last spring, she'd been walking down the stairs and had collapsed, almost blinded – the pain had been that bad.  She'd been with the Parkers then and Mrs. Parker had taken her to the doctor, who'd said she was in perfect health.  Four years ago, her scar had started hurting almost regularly (but not as badly), all through the end of the school year.  Once, she'd even fainted in class.  When Heather had told the doctor this, he'd prescribed an anti-migraine medicine, but the pain came so irregularly, she couldn't tell if it was helping.  Somehow, she didn't think it was.  Whatever was happening to her, it wasn't migraines, she was almost certain.

So what was it?

            "Alright, listen up, everyone!"  Shelly's sharp voice rang through the gym, putting an end to the giggles and chatter that had been going on.  "We only have two weeks before school starts, and then only two weeks before the season begins!  We have to be ready to cheer for our team, so I don't want any nonsense during our practices!  Any personal problems are to be dealt with else where, got it?"  Shelly's harsh glare dared someone to challenge her authority as head cheerleader.  When no one spoke up, her face transformed into a perfect Barbie smile. "Okay!  Let's get started!"  She cried, excited.

            "Wow," Heather murmured to her friend Alicia as they got into formation for the opening cheer, "It's finally happened.  They _finally_ made a Nazi Barbie."

            Alicia giggled predictably, but didn't come up with a comment of her own.  This, too, was predictable.  Alicia wasn't very bright.  But she was Heather's 'best friend', none-the-less.  Beggars couldn't be choosers, Heather supposed, and it made it easier to leave a foster situation if you weren't leaving real friends behind, as well.

            "GO, GRIFFINS, GO!  GO, GRIFFINS, GO!  GO, GRIFFINS, GO!  GO!"  Heather shouted along with everyone else.  Suddenly, her attention was drawn to a man who had just entered the gym and taken a seat on the bleachers.  Heather frowned thoughtfully as the man's eyes scanned the row of girls.  It wasn't unusual for people to come watch cheerleading practices, but they usually didn't come this early in the season – before school had even started.  And they were usually people Heather could recognize from school, just looking for something to do after classes.  But school hadn't started, and this man defiantly wasn't a student at Carleton High.  He was short and plump, with colorless, rapidly disappearing hair and a pointed, rat like nose.  He sat still as a statue on the bleachers.  In fact, the only thing that moved were his small, beady eyes, which, Heather realized with a chill, were looking right at her.  

Great, Heather thought, disgusted, I've got my very own stalker.  She tried to push her unease aside during the rest of practice, but whenever she looked up, the man was still there, and still looking at her.  Heather couldn't wait to get out of there.

            Finally, practice seemed to be drawing to a close, and Shelly ordered them into a pyramid.

            "Now," she shouted, even though no one else was speaking, "this is a very difficult pyramid, so I want you to all be extra careful, okay?"  She went on in her too peppy voice and watched as they slowly formed a human pyramid. 

            After fifteen minutes and several tries, everyone was in place and Heather stood proudly at the apex of the triangle, giving a cheerleader smile that mirrored Shelly's own.  "Okay!" Shelly cried happily, "Now see how long you can hold that pose!"  Judging by the groans from people below her, Heather could tell she wasn't the only one not at all thrilled to be stuck here.  Suddenly she wobbled and looked down, panic rising in her chest.

            "Gwen!" She hissed, angrily, "Stop squirming!" 

            Gwen turned to the boy whose shoulders she was on.  "Stop wiggling, Brett!" She urged, "You're gonna make me drop Heather!"

            "I can't help it!" Brett whined back, "I have to sneeze!"

            High above the ground, Heather heard this exchange.  "What?!" She said to Brett, frantically, "No, you don't!"

            "Heather!" Shelly's voice rang out, "You're not smiling!"

            "Shell, I think I'd better get down, Brett has to-"

            "A-CHOO!"  Brett sneezed, lurching forward.  Gwen had to hang on for dear life and Heather pitched out of her hands and started to fall…

            Several people screamed as they saw Heather drop.  The last thing she saw before squeezing her eyes shut was Shelly's terrified face.  Then she braced herself for impact – which never came.  After a moment, Heather dared to open her eyes.  She could see the floor about a foot below her.  She seemed to be hovering above it.  But who had her?  She couldn't feel anyone holding her up – what was going on?  Then, suddenly, she fell down the rest of the way and bounced onto the mat gently.  She lay still for a minute before getting shakily to her feet and looking around.  

            The pyramid had collapsed and some people were still straightening up and massaging bruised limbs.  And they were all staring straight at her.  So it hadn't been just a figment of her imagination.  She really was hanging over the ground.  No one was coming near her; they all just stared a mixture of fear and disbelief in their eyes.  

Heather moaned inwardly.  And again, her supreme weirdness had chased her out of a home.  The Parkers wouldn't want her in their house after this.  And even if they did, school would be hell – news like this would travel faster than wildfire.  Well, there was one thing Heather knew for sure, she couldn't stay here for another moment.  Turning away from her ex-friends, Heather walked out of the gym miserably, grabbing her backpack off the ground as she left.  She was so wrapped up in herself that she didn't notice as the man on the bleachers got up and followed her.  

            Heather stalked down the hall, blinking back tears.  What had just happened?  She was sure this was connected to the snakes at the Rosenberg's and the vase at the Beck's and the curling iron at Mrs. Chase's.  But what did it all mean?  Why was this happening to her?  

            "Excuse me, miss," a British voice spoke up from behind her.  Heather jumped and turned around to see the man from inside the gym.

            "What?"  Heather asked warily, still not ready to trust him.

            "You're Heather Evans," it wasn't a question, "I knew your parents." 

            Heather rolled her eyes.  All she wanted was to get away from here before the rest of the squad came out of the gym and gave her more weird looks.  "Which ones?" Heather snapped, "'Cause there's been ten sets, and I'm pretty sure my little performance in there is gonna make it a nice round eleven.  So unless you can pick a number, I can't help you."

            The man seemed a bit taken aback by her bitter tones.  "I mean your original parents," he said, as if it were obvious.

            Heather caught her breath.  Her original parents?  She'd been dying to know about them for so long – if this man could tell her…  But growing up in New York had taught her lessons about being careful around strangers, and she wasn't going to trust this person for no reason.  "Okay, what were their names?"  She asked, challenging him.

            The man drew himself up importantly.  "Lily and James."

            Heather felt her heart sink just a little.  For a moment, she'd hoped he might be telling the truth.  "I'm sorry, that's incorrect.  Better luck next time!"  She added with a sarcastic smile, then turned away and started to march off again.  

            But this guy just didn't give up.  Her chased after Heather and grabbed her arm, forcing her to face him again.  "Those were their names!  Honestly!  You've been lied to, but you have to trust me!" He said desperately.

            Heather glared at him and jerked her arm out of his grasp.  "Look," she started, coldly, "maybe kids fall for that routine in Britain, but here in America we have a little thing called self defense.  And pepper spray.  So unless you want to find yourself in a lot of pain very soon, BACK OFF!"  

            The man hesitated, then nodded and stepped away.  Angry, frightened, and hopeless, Heather Evans walked out of Carleton High School for what she was sure was the last time.

            Heather slowly pulled on her denim and wool jacket and shoved her feet into her black boots.  She'd been right - after what happened at cheerleading practice, the Parkers 'thought it would be best' if Heather went back to the adoption agency.  Standing, Heather took one last look around her empty room and walked into the kitchen where Mrs. Parker was trying to feed Becca.  

            Spotting Heather, Mrs. Parker winced almost imperceptibly.  Almost.  

"We'll be ready in a minute," she said, nervously.  Heather nodded and walked outside to wait.  Wandering to the end of the driveway, Heather seated herself on a stone bench in front of a large flowering bush.  This way she didn't have to look at that house anymore.  She'd been returned to the orphanage many times, but this was definitely for the stupidest reason.  

She hadn't honestly thought the Parkers would believe that she'd floated in mid-air, but it seemed that they were more suspicious than she'd imagined and were now convinced she was a witch.  Heather couldn't help laugh at that, as she wondered what people would say about her in school for the rest of they year.  By next summer, people were going to believe she'd been seen eating toads and speaking with Satan.  Heather grinned.  No, she didn't feel at all bad about bailing out of this particular dive, and at least she had gone out with a bang.

She wasn't even worried about starting at a new school whenever she got adopted again.  Heather had developed the ability to make friends quickly, so she never felt out of it in a new place.  She was good at meeting people and paying the right complement in the right tone of voice to get attention from others.  At all her new schools, she quickly gained respect from other kids.  Her report cards always said the same thing: 'Heather is a leader, but she should make sure she's leading in the right direction'.  Heather smiled to herself.  She was a challenge; that was for sure.  

Still, even though everyone seemed to think she was a leader, she couldn't fool herself; she was really a follower.  He popularity wasn't real – it wasn't there because she had lots of good friends or admirable qualities.  It was there because people were afraid that if they weren't nice to her, she'd talk about them behind their backs or something.  But when it came down to it, she was always alone.  Part of her felt she should just be happy with what she could get, but another, bigger part of her was constantly screaming, '_this isn't right! Things should be different! You don't belong here!'_ It was true.  She'd never felt like she really belonged.  No matter haw many 'friends' she made, no matter how close she got to her host families, something was always missing, and she had no idea what.

Glancing up, she saw a man walking down the road.  Not just any man, she quickly realized – THE man.  The guy who had been bothering her after cheerleading practice.  

"And the fun just keeps on leaving," Heather mumbled, exasperated.  The man paused, then started walking towards her again.  She glanced away from him, leaning back into the bench, wishing he didn't make her so uneasy.  Quickly, she looked up at the man again.  He was still staring at her.  For the first time, she noticed his clothes.  He looked like he'd gotten dressed in the dark – his bright green shirt and orange and brown striped pants were an awful combination.  Heather tried not to wince; she didn't even know they made clothes like that.  

Then her eyes fell upon something else, something that made her raise her eyebrows in disgust.  This guy, whoever he was, had a silver glove on one hand.  Very shiny, bright silver, that glittered in the sun.  He was in front of the next-door neighbor's house now.  When he was almost on the Parker's property, Heather realized something.  That thing wasn't a glove – it was his hand!  

She remembered something she hadn't thought about all summer: when she'd gotten that pain in her scar last spring she'd seen pictures.  She'd seen a skeleton with red eyes, faceless people in black cloaks, a motionless boy on the grass…and a MAN WITH A SILVER HAND.  It was this man, she was sure of it.  And when she'd seen him last spring, she'd known then and there that she hated him.  She'd dismissed these images as hallucinations, but now…  

The man was almost to the Parker's driveway by now.  Heather got up and started walking in the opposite direction.  She glanced back and saw the man hurrying to follow her.  He was speeding up, so Heather started to jog.  After a moment, she broke into an all out run for her life.  Looking back again, she saw he'd stopped and was pulling something out of his pocket – a stick.  What was that?  Turning to face forward again, she heard the man cry out a strange word – it sounded sort of like 'stupify'.  Before she had a chance to wonder what he was doing, she had crumpled into a heap, unconscious.

            Peter Pettegrew watched the girl fall, and then quickly looked around to see if anyone was watching.  Doing this in the middle of the day… it was risky.  He didn't like risks.  But now was the only time that nearly everyone in the neighborhood was gone.  Still glancing around, he hurried forward and turned the girl over onto her back.  Squinting at her forehead, Peter searched for the scar that should be there.  For a moment, he had a sinking feeling he'd caught the wrong girl – then he saw it.  She'd done a good job covering it up, but this girl was definitely Heather Potter.  She looked very much like a fifteen year old Lily, with a few minor changes.  His watery eyes glancing around once more, Peter grabbed the girl's arm and Disapparated, taking Heather along with him.

~*~

            A moment later, Peter and Heather Apparated in the middle of a dark forest.  Heather was still unconscious at Peter's feet. Peter's eyes darted around, and he looked like he was about to faint with terror.  He probably was.  The very idea of what he was about to do gave him spasms of panic, but it had to be done.  Breath coming in ragged gasps, Peter grabbed Heather's arms and started to drag her towards a tall boulder.  Since the day Peter had framed Sirius Black for murdering him and a dozen Muggles, Peter had spent his life as a pet rat belonging to a family called the Weasleys.  This was simple protection against Voldemort's remaining supporters, who believed that Peter had betrayed them.  But two years ago, when Sirius had escaped the prison Azkaban, Peter had been exposed to Harry Potter, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin.  Sirius and Remus had wanted to kill him on the spot for betraying Lily and James and framing Sirius, but Harry had stopped them.

            'He can go to Azkaban!' The boy had said, desperately, 'Just don't kill him!'

            No matter how much Peter hated it, he was now in debt to Harry, and this was the only way he could think to pay it back.  A war was brewing between the Dark Lord and the rest of the wizards, and Peter didn't want to have to save Harry's life from his Master when he was finally about to kill the boy.  The bindings of a wizard debt were strong and Voldemort wouldn't want a servant who owed his life to the Lord's archenemy.  He'd leave Heather here – he was saving her from Voldemort, but leaving her in the Forbidden Forest cut down her chances of survival quite a bit.  Besides, even in the off chance that some monster didn't kill her, at least she was in Britain.  That made Voldemort's chances of catching her greater.  And if Voldemort caught her, it wasn't Peter's fault.  He was repaying his debt right here, right now.  But he had to at least TRY to protect her from the creatures of the Forest.  She'd be relatively safe on top of this rock until she woke up.  If that wasn't enough, too bad.  It was all he could do.  Now the next problem – explaining to Voldemort.  Wringing his hands, Peter whimpered and then Disapparated into the night.

~*~

            "You WHAT?"  Voldemort hissed, trembling with rage.  "You let her get away?"  Peter Pettegrew lay whimpering on the floor.  

            "P-please, Master.  She attacked me, and --"

            "This is the part I fail to understand, Wormtail," Voldemort stated harshly, "You were supposed to find her, Stupify her, and Apparate back here immediately.  This doesn't leave her any time to attack you.  Even if she did, it is not to your credit that a fifteen year old untrained witch was able to beat you at a wizard's duel!"  Voldemort lay gasping for air on his bed.  Being furious with Peter was draining.

            "There-there is no excuse for my stupidity, Master."  Peter murmured, fearfully.  "Please forgive me!"  Voldemort snorted humorlessly.

            "It is not in my nature to forgive.  Especially something like this.  Do you know how hard it will be to find her again?"  The Dark Lord's voice was low and dangerous.  "This girl does not even know her true name.  The only way a Locater Spell will work is if the one we are looking for is aware of who they are!  If she doesn't know who she is, the spell will not find her!  Go, Wormtail.  When my strength has returned, I will punish you.  For now, leave me."

~*~

            Heather slowly blinked, raising her head a little to look around.  Was she in a forest?  It certainly looked that way.  But how had she gotten here?  And why?  Then it all came flooding back to her – the man with the silver hand and the God-awful fashion sense, running away, that word he'd said…  Then she could remember stumbling and falling toward the ground.  He must have taken her here.  

She sat up suddenly, glancing around nervously to see if he was there.  But she seemed to be completely alone up on this rock.  Standing slowly, she looked around but all she could see in every direction was trees.  It was pretty dark out, too.  She must have been unconscious for hours!  Glancing at her wristwatch, Heather saw it was only 4:45.  4:45?  That was only a half hour after she'd left the house!  How had that guy dragged her all the way out in the middle of nowhere in under a half hour?  And where was she?  Where could you find such thick woods in the suburbs of Albany?  She couldn't even hear any cars.  Heather was seriously starting to panic.  The most important thing was to get out of there.  That man could come back at any moment. 

So, slipping and stumbling off the rock, Heather chose a random direction (as they all looked just the same) and started hurrying that way.  As panic set in, she started to run, weaving between trees for what seemed like ages, but was only a half hour or so.

She eventually collapsed, gasping for air and clutching at the stitch in her side.  After a while, she looked around to see if she'd gotten any closer to civilization.  Nope.  Still no sound of traffic or people.  The only change was that it was darker; not exactly what you'd call comforting.

Slouching down against a tree, Heather took deep, calming breaths, like they said to on Mrs. Chase's stress management tapes.  She'd seen those stories on the news about people who got lost in the woods and the police found them days later, dead.  Murdered, usually, but sometimes they'd died from starvation.  Murder or starvation.  Neither sounded fun.  Pushing such dark thoughts out of her mind, Heather tried to think of something cheerful.  It was unlikely that the creepy guy would find her out here – she'd run a long way.  Also, nothing was going to hurt her out in the forest.  Although she was definitely an indoor girl, Heather was well aware that bears didn't just come over and maul you for the heck of it.  She was probably safe here for the night.  Everything was fine.  She was fine.  When it got light out, she'd be able to see a house or the road or something and then she'd walk towards it and all would be right with the world.  Everything was fine.

The spandex-clad-yoga-guys on Mrs. Chase's tapes hadn't been lying; Heather did feel better.  That is, until she suddenly heard loud crashing noises coming from a space about a hundred feet to the left of her.  Squinting through the trees, she could make out several hulking shapes, skittering between the huge trees on too many legs…  Then the trees swished shut behind them, and they were gone, the distant crashes getting quieter.  

Heather's steady breathing pattern had been completely shot to hell at this point, so she just sat by the tree, slowly forcing herself to stop shaking and her hands to unclench.  Maybe bears weren't her biggest problem in this particular forest…

Suddenly, she heard another noise behind her.  Heather caught her breath.  Had those things found her?  No, the noise was too soft to be them…  Was it that man?  The noise had stopped, but now it started up again.  It was a strange slithering sound, like a rope being pulled over the leaves.  Scrambling to her feet and biting her lip, Heather turned and squinted in the direction of the noise.  She couldn't see anything, but then she realized what the sound was and looked down - sure enough, a snake was winding its way towards her.  It was long and black, with bright eyes that watched her intelligently.  Heather gave the serpent a weak smile; she'd always been rather fond of snakes.  

"Are you lost?" A soft voice hissed.  Heather nearly jumped out of her skin and glanced around wildly.  

"Who's there?"  She asked, her voice shaky.  A dry chuckling made her look around again.  The voice seemed to be coming from behind the snake.

"Down here!" The voice said.  "No, here.  A bit to the left, dear.  There!  That's right.  Now, are you quite all right?"  

Heather stared at the snake.  Was it TALKING?  No, of course not.  "I'm losing it," she murmured to herself, despairingly, "I've finally cracked."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," the whispery voice said quietly, "You look like you're in trouble.  Any way I can help?"  

Heather eyed the snake dubiously.  "You're talking to me."  It was meant as a question but came out more like a statement.  "But you're a snake!"

"There have been times you've talked to snakes before, haven't there?" 

"Well, yeah," she said, remembering the Rosenbergs, "but I wasn't really TALKING–" she stopped.  "I _was_ talking to snakes," she realized suddenly.  Then, "I was talking to snakes?"

The snake chuckled again.  "It comes as a shock to most.  But it has come to the aid of many.  The Forbidden Forest isn't a good place to be at night.  Would you like to leave it?"

"More than you can imagine!" Heather exclaimed, smiling.  Asking a snake for directions wasn't a good sign on the sanity scale, but it was better than sitting alone in the dark, panicking.  The snake turned and slithered away, Heather hurrying to keep up with it.  For over an hour they traveled on like this, Heather's eyes glued to the snake gliding quietly over the soft forest floor.  She had to duck a lot to avoid hitting her head on low tree branches.  Several times she thought she'd lost track of her guide, but then the snake would call back something like "Are you coming?" and Heather would get back on the trail again.  She was sure this was the weirdest thing she'd ever done – follow a talking snake with an English accent through the woods in the dead of night.  

Every so often, Heather would hear a strange sound off in the distance – a howl of some wild animal, snarling of fighting wolves, but the snake led her away from these sounds.  At last, Heather stumbled onto a dirt path.  She looked up for the first time in an hour and saw that the trees had thinned out quite a bit and moonlight was shining down on the ground.  

The snake stopped and started to talk.  "This is where I leave you.  Go straight on along the path until you reach the edge of the woods.  You will find people there who will help you.  But you must not leave them!  Do you understand?"  The serpent had risen up like a cobra and was almost level with Heather's chest.  It stared up at her, unblinking.

"Yeah," Heather said, nodding.  After a pause she blinked.  "Actually, no.  What do you mean, I can't leave them?  I have to get back to the Parkers!  They… might be worried!  And Michelle definitely will…" she realized suddenly that the snake had no idea who she was talking about.

"No matter who you have left behind, you must stay at Hogwarts.  Dumbledore will protect you from He Who Must Not Be Named.  Do not leave him!"  The snake hissed, urgently.

"I suppose it'd be useless to try and get you to make sense, huh?"  Heather asked, smiling wryly.

"You will come to understand.  If you have need of my brothers and sisters, you need only to call us.  We will come to your aid," with that, the snake dropped back to the ground and started to slither away.

"Thanks very much!"  Heather called after it.  She paused for a moment, staring after her guide.  Suddenly she felt strangely alone.  Turning quickly, Heather set off along the path in the direction the snake had indicated.  As she walked, she puzzled over the snake's words.  She couldn't leave the people she was about to find?  Why not?  Michelle would be frantic with worry.  The Parkers might actually trouble themselves to care.  And what was that about 'He Who Must Not Be Named'?  And why did she, Heather Evans, need protection from him?  She'd never done anything exciting or dangerous – nothing to draw the attention of someone whose name couldn't even be said.  This was just too weird to figure out by herself.  Hopefully this Dumbledore guy she was heading towards would make more sense.  If he seemed all right, she supposed she'd stay with him.  That person looking for her sounded dangerous…

Heather stopped and shook her head sharply.  "I can't believe I'm taking advise from a snake!  I've seriously lost it.  When I get to the house of this guy I'm going to see, I'm asking him to take me straight back to the Parker's house!  This is SO psycho!"  It was also a little psycho to be standing in the middle of the woods talking to herself, but Heather ignored this fact, and headed with new determination along the dirt path.  She'd be back at the orphanage before dinner tomorrow.

But no matter what she told herself, Heather was fairly certain that she wouldn't be in a hurry to leave this Dumbledore person.  Something like this had – understandably – never happened to her before.  It was new, it was exciting – it was everything her life wasn't.  She'd just been kidnapped by a guy with a metal hand, had woken up in a place referred to as the Forbidden Forest, been led out of it by a talking snake, and was off to see a person named Dumbledore who had something to do with hog warts, so he could protect her from a killer with no name.

Despite herself, Heather smiled a little.  It just didn't get freakier than that.  Almost instantly she was proven wrong.  She'd finally come out of the woods and was met with a spectacular sight. Looming up ahead of her was a huge CASTLE.  She wasn't quite sure what she'd expected, but this was not it.  This castle was magnificently beautiful.  There was just no other word for it.  Towers and turrets rose into the inky black sky, which was sparkling with dozens of stars and a bright half moon that soaked the vast stretch of lawn in silvery light.  Heather was finally able to tear her eyes away from the castle itself and looked at the grounds surrounding it.  A large lake came almost up to the front of the building and held an unbroken reflection of the night sky.  Mouth open, Heather turned to try and see some sort of front entrance.  At the end of a long road, she could just make out a tall iron fence and a gate.  On either side of the metal doors were two stone posts, which were both topped by what appeared to be some sort of carved winged animals.  Much closer was a small cottage, which was about twenty feet from where Heather stood on the edge of the woods.  It had a small, well-tended garden behind it, which seemed to be growing some very healthy pumpkins.  Closing her mouth and swallowing, Heather took one last look at the castle and headed towards the cottage.  Better to start small and work her way up. 

Reaching the wooden door, Heather hesitated for an instant before knocking loudly.  Her knock was answered by loud barks that came from inside the little house, but no one answered the door.  She hadn't seen any lights on through the windows, maybe whoever lived here was gone.  Did the Dumbledore person she was looking for live here?  Was she even in the right place?  And what did hog warts have to do with anything?  Questions chased each other through Heather's mind.  She waited for another moment and then started to turn away, disappointed.  Beautiful as it was, she didn't much like the idea of going up to the castle.  Where do you knock when you go to a castle?  

Suddenly, she heard the door swing open behind her and a sleepy voice said "Professor Dumbledore, sir?"  Heather froze.  She turned back around to reply to the person standing there, then stopped, eyes wide.  The man that stood framed in the doorway was absolutely GIGANTIC.  He was easily two times as tall as her, and his shoulders touched either side of the wide doorframe.  He had a mass of wild black hair that covered almost his entire face and head like a lion's main.  His bright black eyes peered down at her.  

"Yer not Dumbledore," he said, sounding disappointed.  "Here, now.  What're yeh doin' here?  Th' school year hasn' started yet – no one but me 'n the other teachers should be here!  You'd better go on back home, it's late.  Back, Fang!" He added this last bit to the large black dog trying to squeeze past him.  Heather stood for a moment, staring at the man stupidly.  She tried to speak, but no noise came out of her mouth.  Finally, she found her voice.

"I'm actually looking for Dumbledore," she squeaked, glancing around.  "But if this is a bad time…" She trailed off, nervously.

The huge man looked suspicious.  "What yeh wanna see Professor Dumbledore for?" 

Heather winced.  'A snake told me he'd protect me from some guy with no name' didn't seem like the right thing to say.  "It's a REALLY long story," she answered instead.  "If you know where he is, I'll just go and talk to him.  It's really important," she added, urgently.  "Do you know where I can find him?"

"'Course I do.  S'not the point.  It's not Hogwarts custom to let American girls wanderin' around in the middle o' the night up to see the Headmaster!"

"Hogwarts?"  Heather asked eagerly.  "Someone told me about that – they said something about staying at Hogwarts where Dumbledore could protect me from some guy.  'He Who Must Not Be Named', or something like that…" It was hard to see in the darkness, but Heather was sure that the man's face drained of color.

"Y-You-Know-Who?"  He asked, voice trembling.

"I know what?"  Heather responded, confused.  

"Yer a Muggle, aren' yeh?" He asked, eying her jean jacket, khaki pants, and dark shoes.  

"A what?"  Heather asked, indignantly.  This guy was English, was 'muggle' some sort of English insult?  "Look," she went on, impatiently, "I've had a really rough past few hours, and all I know is that I'm supposed to see Dumbledore and stay with him.  I'd be really grateful if you could just point me in his direction.  That's all I need from you, ok?"

The giant stared at her for a few more moments, then nodded.  He took a step towards her and Heather took a step back, almost instinctively.  Luckily, the man didn't notice; he was pushing the black dog back into the house and closing the door.  "I'll take you to th' Headmaster," he told her stiffly, starting off towards the castle, "But if I find out yer playin' a prank…" He said warningly, glancing back at her.  Almost running to keep up with him, Heather shook her head.  

"It's no joke," she assured him.  They proceeded in silence all the way up to the castle, and Heather was panting by the time they reached the front doors.  She had to take about three steps to keep pace with the man.  Stopping at the enormous wooden doors to the castle, the giant pulled a ring of keys off his belt.  He jammed a huge brass skeleton key into the lock and the doors swung open by themselves.  The man walked into the front entrance and Heather followed, eyes and mouth wide at the sight that greeted her.  The room was huge.  Spiraling staircases and twisting corridors led off from it in all directions and the ceiling was so high, Heather couldn't make it out.  Covering the walls were paintings and tapestries, which stood behind several polished suits of armor.  The big man took one of the passageways and strode off, not checking to see if the girl was following him.  Hurrying to keep up with him, Heather tried to watch all the paintings.  Maybe it was just the patches of moonlight shining through the windows, but she could swear the pictures were moving.  Many of the people in the paintings were asleep.  

After a minute or so, the huge man stopped at what seemed to be a random spot in the hall.  She was about to ask why they were stopping, but he spoke first.  "Chocolate frogs!"  He growled.  He still looked pretty grumpy and Heather decided not to question him.  She wouldn't have gotten very far if she had, because a second later the stone gargoyle she'd thought was carved into the wall suddenly sprang to life and jumped off his ledge.  Where he had been sitting, a long crack ran down the stone and the two sides of the wall pulled away from each other.  Stepping through the opening, the man indicated for her to do the same.  She stepped in after him and gasped - they were moving!  She'd walked onto a sort of spiral escalator that was flowing slowly upwards.  Heather couldn't see how long the staircase was because the bulk of the man in front of her blocked everything from sight, but the moving staircase did have an end.  They stopped after about half a minute and the man knocked on the door.  Heather was getting really nervous.  What if Dumbledore had the same reaction to her as Hagrid had?  What if he got mad at her and sent her away?  She really didn't want to have to spend the night in the Forest.

"Come in!" called a distracted voice.  The giant opened the door and somehow managed to squeeze through it.  On the other side, he stopped abruptly, causing Heather to have a near collision with his back.  She couldn't see past him to the person who was in the room, and the unknown compounded her worry.  No one was looking at her, maybe she could just slip away…she shouldn't have come here – it was stupid…

"Sorry, to bother yeh so late, Professor Dumbledore," the large man said gruffly.

"It's no bother, Hagrid.  I was up anyway," the friendly voice answered kindly.  Somehow the sound of that voice - so friendly, so comforting – quieted Heather's desire to run from the room.  

"I was jus' asleep in me house when this girl came knockin' on the door.  Said she had some business with you.  I can' imagine what – I think she's a MUGGLE.  An American one at tha'.  But then she – she said somthin' abou' You-Know-Who."  The giant man – Hagrid – added this last sentence in a nervous whisper.  Whoever this nameless guy was, all different sorts were afraid of him.  There was a pause before Professor Dumbledore answered.

"Where is she now?" he asked, calmly.  Hagrid stepped aside and Heather found herself staring into light blue eyes that sparkled behind half glasses.  Heather's first thought was that she was sure she'd seen this man before.  Her second thought, and the one that stuck, was that she'd never seen anyone like Professor Dumbledore in her life.  He had pink cheeks and a long, white beard that reached down to his waist.  On top of his head sat a pointed wizard's hat decorated with stars and moons.  He also wore brightly colored robes – or what looked like robes; Heather couldn't tell because he was sitting behind a dark wooden desk.  She unabashedly stared at him, and he at her.  

Indeed, this Dumbledore person seemed just as amazed by Heather as she was by him, but she was too dumbstruck to notice this.  Finally realizing how rude she was being, Heather dropped her gaze and glanced sheepishly around the room.  The walls were carved paneling in the same dark wood as the desk.  They were covered with pictures of old men and women, all of whom were asleep.  In front of Dumbledore's desk were two chairs set in a position that reminded Heather strongly of many of the principle's offices she'd been in.  Around the room were various strange devises that made odd whizzing, whirring, and whistling noises.  Behind Dumbledore was yet another amazing sight – a large gold and ruby feathered bird that was glittering impressively.  "Thank you, Hagrid.  You may go.  I'll deal with this."  

"Yes, sir, Professor Dumbledore," Hagrid said, sounding relieved.  He obviously didn't want to deal with anything having to do with You-Know-Who.  Heather turned in time to see Hagrid squeeze out the door again and disappear down the stairs, which now seemed to be moving downwards.  

"Would you like to have a seat?" Dumbledore asked gently.  Heather turned back around and smiled weakly, walking up to the chairs in front of the desk and sitting down.  Dumbledore looked at her for another few moments.  Heather stared back at him, trying to see why he looked so surprised.  A million different emotions crossed his face, but Heather didn't know him well enough to be able to tell what all of them meant.  They seemed to settle, however, on astonishment mixed with joy.  "What's your name, young lady?" He asked, politely.

"Heather Evans," she answered quickly.  She was totally clueless about what was going to happen next, and she didn't like the uncertainty.  What if Dumbledore sent her away?  After seeing Hagrid's reaction to the simple words 'He Who Must Not Be Named', she was convinced that her conversation with the snake and the danger she was in were both very real.  

"And do you live with your birth parents, Heather?" Dumbledore went on.  Heather hesitated for a moment.  What kind of a question was that?

"No," she answered finally.  "I live with an adoptive family.  The Parkers.  Well, I don't technically live with them anymore – they're sending me back to the orphanage.  My parents died over seas in an accident when I was one."  Sitting there, talking to Dumbledore, Heather felt as if a weight was being lifted from her.  With out realizing it, Heather had put all her faith in Professor Dumbledore.  She felt as if nothing could go wrong while he was there with her.  

"Who told you that?" he asked quickly.

"The woman who works at the orphanage I usually live at.  My nanny told the social worker when they found us in the city.  We'd been attacked by a robber – my nanny died that same night."

Dumbledore nodded slowly.  "And do you believe in magic, Heather?" This time Heather hesitated for more than a moment, staring at him in disbelief.  Where was he going with this?  Did she live with her birth parents?  Did she believe in magic?  What kind of questions were those?  Before she could come up with an answer, Dumbledore smiled, the corners of his eyes wrinkling.  "I can see not."  He said.  "So you must be very alarmed to find yourself in this position."  He smiled again as Heather nodded vigorously.  "Then perhaps you'd better tell me exactly how you got here.  Take all the time you need.  But first, I need to send off a note to a friend of mine.  Please forgive me – it will only take a moment."  Dumbledore took piece of old looking paper out of a drawer in his desk, along with an ink well.  Dipping the end of a quill pen into the ink, Dumbledore began to write quickly.  

Heather took this opportunity to gaze up at the bird still perched behind Dumbledore.  It stretched its wings out and gazed down at her, flexing its tail feathers impressively.  "He's showing off."  Dumbledore said, seeing the direction Heather was looking.  She glanced back at him and saw he was smiling.  "He does that quite a lot."  Dumbledore went on, rolling up his note and tying it to the bird's leg.  It took off and flew to the door, which opened as the bird approached it and closed after it had passed.  Heather, eyes wide, stared at the door, even after the bird had gone out of view.  "That was Fawkes.  My phoenix." Dumbledore smiled again at Heather's amazement.

"Your phoe- But phoenixes don't exist!  They're just in stories…" she trailed off.  A few hours ago, she'd also have said that snakes didn't talk, or that castles didn't sit unnoticed in the middle of New York.  She'd been wrong then; how many other things was she wrong about?

"I'll explain everything shortly.  But first I'd like to hear how you got here, if you don't mind.  From the beginning."

"The beginning?" Heather echoed, pushing thoughts about phoenixes and snakes aside.  "Well, I wouldn't be here if I didn't sign up to be on the cheerleading squad." She went on to describe seeing the man with the silver hand and adding that she'd seen him before when she'd gotten a migraine.  She then quickly explained about her scar and how it hurt sometimes (something he seemed to find very interesting), with a brief explanation about how she got it in the first place.  She told about falling off the top of the pyramid and getting sent back to the orphanage.  Then she told about seeing the man again, and running from him.  Heather told him about waking up in the forest and running through the woods, but when she got to the part involving the snake, she paused.  

"Go on," Dumbledore urged.

"Well, this part's kind of weird.  It'll come out sounding crazy, but…" she trailed off.

"Heather, trust me.  Absolutely nothing you tell me will surprise me."

Heather smiled a little.  She could believe that.  So she told Dumbledore about the snake leading her out of the forest and warning her not to leave the people she found on the other side of the woods.  "She said that you'd protect me from 'He Who Must Not Be Named'," Heather said, sounding confused.  "I have no idea who she was talking about, but when I mentioned it to that guy – Hagrid – he totally freaked!"  Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard.  He was about to speak when they heard a knock on the office door.

"Come in, Minerva!" he called.  The door opened and Heather turned to see who it was.  A tall, stern looking woman entered the office, dressed in a hairnet, a tartan bathrobe, and square glasses.  Her nose was beak-like and her lips were drawn into a thin line.  She didn't look happy.  

"Albus, _what_ is going on?" she asked sharply, ignoring Heather as Fawkes the phoenix flew in after her and landed on his perch.  "I got your note and then I met Hagrid in the halls talking about some Muggle who got through the Forest and was telling stories about You-Know" Here the woman broke off suddenly, noticing Heather for the first time.  Heather dropped her eyes, expecting the woman to start in yelling at her as well.  Instead, the woman stared at her, then glanced at Professor Dumbledore, who nodded, eyes twinkling.  Her eyes widened and she put a hand to her mouth.  

"Minerva, this is Heather Evans.  Heather, this is Professor McGonagall – a colleague of mine." Dumbledore made the introductions slowly and calmly to give Minerva time to get over her shock.

"Nice to meet you," Heather said, timidly.

"The pleasure's all mine," Professor McGonagall said, faintly.

"Won't you join us, Minerva?  I was just about to give Heather an explanation as to what's happened to her.  I think you might be interested in it as well." McGonagall nodded and sat down next to Heather, seeming to calm down a bit.  Professor Dumbledore seemed to have that effect on people.

"Heather has just told me a fascinating story about how she was kidnapped just this afternoon by a man with a silver hand," Dumbledore explained, looking at Minerva meaningfully.

Minerva knew that sounded familiar – a man with a silver hand…  Of course!  When Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory had come face to face with Voldemort last year, Harry had reported seeing Peter Pettegrew alive and well, a servant of the Dark Lord.  Harry had said that Peter had cut off his own hand in part of a ritual to bring Voldemort back into his old body, and the appendage had been replaced with a fully functional silver one.  So Peter WAS alive – and working for Voldemort!  And Heather Potter was alive as well – Minerva almost pinched herself to see if it was real.  

"Heather, you won't believe what I'm about to tell you, but you'll have to.  You've grown up knowing one thing, and I'm about to tell you something completely different.  Let's start with what you've already seen.  The man who kidnapped you is called Peter Pettegrew; he's a wizard in service to another wizard named Voldemort," Dumbledore waited a moment for this to sink in.

"But – a WIZARD?  No.  Really?  You're kidding!  There aren't – wizards don't exist!  They're fake - in stories and stuff.  I mean… that's ridiculous!"  Heather sputtered, trying to convince herself of what she was saying.  Wizards were fake – they were just like dragons and mermaids and werewolves.  And phoenixes and talking snakes and hidden castles…

"Is it?"  Dumbledore said, softly.  "After all you've seen tonight, do you still discount the idea of magic?  Heather, be sensible.  You've conversed with snakes, seen my phoenix, what more is there?"  Heather heard whispering to her right and jerked around.  The people in the paintings were awake now and all of them were pointing at her and staring, murmuring to each other.  Heather's eyes widened and she gasped, jumping out of her seat.

"They – they're MOVING!" she cried, looking at Dumbledore.  He didn't seem at all surprised by the moving pictures; in fact he waved at several of them who waved back, smiling jovially.  Heather sank back into her chair, face white as a sheet.  "This is the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me." 

Dumbledore smiled kindly.  "I don't doubt that, my dear.  Now, would you like to hear the rest of my explanation?" Heather nodded mutely, still staring at the moving portraits.  "Alright then.  As I say, Peter's master is called Voldemort, although most of our kind refuse to say his name – instead they call him 'You-Know-Who' or 'He Who Must Not Be Named'.  Voldemort was around fourteen years ago, killing all who opposed him.  He was cruel and merciless – not even quite human any longer," Dumbledore looked saddened as he said these words, and his eyes had lost their twinkle.

"Fourteen years ago, Voldemort went after a family known as the Potters.  He killed Lily and James Potter and their daughter," she didn't notice that both Dumbledore and McGonagall were carefully avoiding her eyes, "but when Voldemort tried to kill the Potter's other child – Harry – he was unable to.  People say that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter, the Dark Lord's power broke, and he was banished to live a sort of half-life – only a consciousness floating about without powers or a body.  Harry Potter became famous in our world; every child grew up knowing his name.

"Just last year, Voldemort returned and many of his followers went back to him.  He hasn't launched a full attack yet, but we're sure the blow will fall soon – perhaps within the year.  This fact is not widely known, as the Ministry of Magic refuses to recognize the fact that Voldemort has returned, and therefore few people know about it.  Anyway, I just thought it would do to give you that bit of background information before we went on.  I don't quite understand why Voldemort sent Peter to get you – he must have sensed magic in you – as do I.  So you've never been contacted by a school of Magic?"

"No," Heather said, shaking her head.  "There are schools for magic?"

"Yes.  This castle you are in is one of them – Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry," Dumbledore said proudly.  "Now, after Peter kidnapped you – I assume he Apparated (that's a way of magically appearing in another place) in the Forbidden Forest.  Now this is where it gets even more confusing.  I've no idea why Peter would've left you there without taking you to his master," Dumbledore lied.  He knew exactly why Peter Pettegrew had left Heather in the Forbidden Forest.  A little over a year ago, young Harry Potter had saved Peter's life by stopping Sirius Black and Remus Lupin from killing him to avenge the Potters.  Harry had told Dumbledore this, and said that he felt he'd made a mistake.  Dumbledore had assured him that Peter's life debt would come in handy some day – and he'd been right.  "He'll be punished severely for it, I've no doubt," Dumbledore said aloud.  "If I were you, I wouldn't mention this to just anyone – the only people at this school who know that Peter is alive and working for Voldemort are myself, Professor McGonagall, Harry Potter, and two of his friends.  There's something else you should know Heather – the Forbidden Forest which Peter left you in is in England," Dumbledore stopped, watching the girl's face.  It registered confusion, surprise, and finally acceptance.

"I'm in England," she repeated, looking over Dumbledore's shoulder and out a window.  "Well, I've always wanted to go to Europe!" She added brightly, looking more happy than concerned.  There was no easy way to get to the Parker's house from here.  Not that she thought she wanted to go there anymore.  If this Voldemort man was on the loose and looking for her – she shuddered.  "Will you be able to protect me from him – Voldemort?" She asked.

"Alas, no one is completely safe from Voldemort. But many people agree, Hogwarts is the one place he's reluctant to come."

"Why?" Heather asked, curiously.

Professor McGonagall spoke up for the first time in a while.  "Dumbledore is the only person Voldemort-" she shuddered at the name and went on, "-was ever afraid of." Heather nodded slowly.  She couldn't imagine anyone being afraid of Dumbledore – he seemed so nice!

"Heather, I think it would be best if you stayed at Hogwarts for a bit – for your own protection.  We can send a note off to your family in New York.  You could start as a student here – I think you'd do well as a witch.  You certainly have the ability.  I can tell that even without testing you."

"Really?" Heather exclaimed, grinning, "Cool!"  She paused and reconsidered, starting to frown.  "Actually…are you sure I could – I mean, I've never done anything magical before… I'm not sure I'd really be able to…" Dumbledore only smiled, looking greatly amused.

"Haven't things ever happened to you when you were angry or frightened?  Anything odd?"  Heather opened her mouth to object, then closed it again.  She thought of the Rosenbergs, the Becks, and Ms. Chase.  And more obviously, what had happened at cheerleading practice.  All the things that had happened – there was an explanation.  She smiled a little.  This explained a LOT!

"And surely you don't think everyone can talk to snakes," Dumbledore went on.

"Can you?"

Dumbledore shook his head.  "Most people can't.  It's a very rare gift among wizards and witches.  I wouldn't share it with others, if I were you," he added, almost as an after thought.  "Most people find it a bit – frightening.  People are always afraid of what they don't understand, and your unique power is often misunderstood."  Heather nodded, a slightly worried frown on her face.  Dumbledore smiled at her again.  That frown was exactly like Lily's had been the many times she had been called into his office during her school years for participating in one of the Marauders' many pranks.

"So, I'm gonna start school here?  And you'll tell Michelle from the orphanage what happened?"  Dumbledore nodded, wondering how he'd explain to a Muggle that one of her charges was suddenly in England.  He'd have to bend the truth a bit.  Quite a bit.

Heather nodded finally.  "Ok," she said, smiling

"There are still a few days before the start of school.  Professor McGonagall, will you be able to catch Heather up a bit with her studies?"  

McGonagall nodded.  "I can take her to Diagon Alley tomorrow to buy her things," she said.

Dumbledore nodded, beaming.  "Wonderful!  Heather, you must be exhausted.  And hungry.  Here, I'll show you to a room," he stood and beckoned her towards a door she was sure hadn't been there a moment ago.  Looking inside she saw a very nice looking room with a bed already made and a nightstand sitting beside it.  "I'll send an elf up with some food.  Make yourself comfortable.  If you need anything, just come into my office – I'll be there for a while."  With that, Dumbledore shut her into the room.  Heather looked around hesitantly.  Sitting on the bed, she pulled off her jacket and shoes slowly.  She wasn't really tired, but she was sure that the Professors wanted to talk alone.  Sighing, she pulled on the nightgown she found folded neatly on her bed and lay down under the sheets, waiting for her food to come.  She wasn't really hungry either, but she wasn't about to refuse food.  

Part of her wondered why she wasn't terrified.  She'd just been told a crazy story by a man she didn't know who claimed t be a wizard, she was miles away from home, and some psycho killer was looking for her.  Yet somehow she felt completely unworried, and more than a little excited.  

It turned out she was more tired than she'd thought, because she quickly drifted off to sleep.  Her last thought was, 'I hope I don't have to take math here.'  

~*~

Albus Dumbledore sighed heavily and turned back to face Professor McGonagall.  

"Dumbledore, that wasn't --- that COULDN'T have been – Heather Potter?"  Her face was pale and her eyes were wide.

"I do believe it was, Minerva," Dumbledore answered quietly, nodding.

"But – but she's dead!  With a death certificate!  The Minister for Magic himself-"

"The Minister for Magic was wrong," Dumbledore stated, firmly, "Heather Potter is alive, we've just seen her."

"Well, then – then we must inform the Ministry at once!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed, excited.  "Everyone will be thrilled at the news – and Harry!  He'll be delighted!  His twin sister here in school with him!  We should write all the papers-" she went on, excitement rising.

"And announce to Voldemort that the last two Potters are tied neatly into a bundle right in front of him?  My dear Professor, you're much more sensible than that!"

"But he's afraid of you, Dumbledore!" Minerva said, annoyed, "He won't come here to get them!"  

"Perhaps not, but he'll know where they are.  Meaning that the moment he's got the Dementors and the giants back on his side, we'll be his first target.  We don't need to flaunt it in his face.  He'll figure it out eventually, I've no doubt.  But hopefully by then Harry and Heather will have graduated and will be more prepared for him."

Professor McGonagall paused, then nodded her head.  "You're right Albus.  You're absolutely right, as usual.  I'm sorry – I don't know what I was thinking," she said, embarrassed.

"You were thinking exactly what I thought when I first saw her," Dumbledore said kindly.  "I wanted to tell everyone – I wanted to tell her!  But we mustn't do that, either."

"Why not?"  Minerva asked, frowning.

"Because I believe that Voldemort will try to find her with a Locater Spell.  Now, few people know this, but a Locater Spell works only if the person you're trying to find knows who they are.  Heather does not know.  She believes she is the daughter of the late Mr. and Mrs. Evans who died in an accident when she was one.  She's grown up as an American Muggle – she wouldn't understand even if we did tell her.  It will take a while.  But telling her who she is would be the same as announcing it to the papers.  We must be very careful about who we tell.  Snape will recognize her as the Potter's child, I've no doubt.  I do believe he still has nightmares about James and his friends," Dumbledore said, smiling wryly.  "We'll have to tell him, and I trust him to keep the secret.  No one else will notice… I believe the only people here who knew Lily from school were Hagrid, Madam Pomfrey and Professor Binns, and Professor Flitwick.  Binns won't notice – I doubt he'd realize if the entire class had died; I'll talk to Poppy and Flitwick…but Hagrid might be a problem.  He never was good at disguising his emotions…If he figures it out, I'll tell him to keep the secret."

"She DOES look like Lily, doesn't she?" Minerva asked softly.

"Indeed she does.  Much as Harry looks like James.  Heather has James' eyes, though."

"But how?" Minerva asked, suddenly, "How did she survive?  And how did she end up in America?"

"That's anyone's guess," Dumbledore answered.  "She told me about her nanny – the one they found her with, who said the parents were Lawrence and Judith Evans.  She told the Hospital in New York that the parents died in an accident over seas.  The nanny died that same night."

"So someone rescued Heather?" Minerva asked, breathlessly.

"I doubt it was someone from our side.  The fact that Voldemort could trace Heather there points to one of his own.  I think she was trying to keep Heather hidden until Voldemort could return for her," Dumbledore explained.  "The best we can do is keep her safe here.  You'll take her to Diagon Alley tomorrow?"  Minerva nodded quickly.

"I didn't see her scar, did you?  She'd have one, wouldn't she?  Like Harry's?"

"I believe she does.  She's hidden it, though.  Make-up."

"Well, that's lucky!"  Minerva exclaimed, "I'm sure she'll meet Harry this year – it's bad enough she looks so much like Lily!  We can only hope he doesn't put it together."

"He will, eventually.  He, Ron and Hermione never could walk away from a mystery," he said fondly.  "The only thing we can do is teach them as much as we can before Voldemort turns up."

Minerva nodded slowly, horrified.  These children were doomed if Voldemort came for them.  But Dumbledore was right.  This was the best they could do.

"I should be off.  I'll come by to get Heather in the morning."

"Wonderful," Dumbledore said.  "Have a good night, Minerva."

~*~

When they appeared in Diagon Alley then next morning, Heather didn't know where to go first.  The street was lined with shops whose windows were filled with all manner of strange things – lizard's eyes, cauldron's, Grow Your Own Warts Kits, and more.  The street wasn't full of cars and stoplights, but dozens of people in strange robes just like Professor McGonagall's.

"We'll need to get your school robes and books, of course," Professor McGonagall said, thinking aloud, "And your wand."

"Whoa!" Heather said, stopping in the middle of the road.  "My WAND?  I get a WAND?"  A broad grin spread across her face as she said the words.

Professor McGonagall smiled brightly.  "Of course, dear.  How do you expect to do magic without a wand?"  I don't believe I've ever called a student 'dear' before.  Minerva thought to herself.  But I like this girl already.  

If the Professor liked Heather at the beginning of the day, it was nothing compared to how she felt by the end of it.  Heather was polite, friendly and intelligent.  The two of them went to Madam Malkin's to get robes, then Flourish and Blotts and the Apothecary's.  They got a cauldron, books, rolls of parchment, wells of ink, and a large wooden trunk to fit it all into.  Professor McGonagall and Heather talked almost non-stop the entire time.  Minerva explained the basic lessons of magic and the finer points of Transfiguration – her own subject.  She told Heather about the Sorting that took place at the beginning of the year and the different houses you could be put into.  She talked about the House Cup and the history of the school.  

Heather listened, spellbound, the entire time.  This place was amazing!  Every so often, Professor McGonagall would say, 'But you don't want to hear about THAT.  It's a bit boring.'  She was always delighted when Heather would cry out, 'No!  Tell me!  It's fascinating!'  She'd never had such an attentive student – except perhaps Hermione Granger.  They went to Olivander's to get Heather her wand (Willow, 11 inches, with a dragon heartstring center – 'Excellent for Defense Against the Dark Arts!'  The wand seller had said, excited.)  Professor McGonagall had gotten a bit tense when Mr. Olivander had peered at Heather with his silvery eyes and said 'Well, now.  I didn't expect to be seeing YOU here'.  McGonagall had left the store hastily, pulling the girl along with her.  

When the day was over, Heather and Professor McGonagall returned to the castle that afternoon loaded down with packages.  They were dragging Heather's trunk towards Dumbledore's office and discussing the additional classes she could sign up for when she caught sight of a man walking towards them.  He seemed to be coming from the direction of Dumbledore's office and he had an ugly sneer plastered on his face.  Heather saw him first; the professor's back was to him.  She stopped talking when she noticed Heather staring over her shoulder with a worried expression on her face.  Turning, she saw the reason for the girl's discomfort.  Severus Snape was hurrying in their direction, and he looked furious.  Professor McGonagall straightened and Heather did the same, taking in the man's sallow skin, black hair, hooked nose, and cold eyes.  He looked like the most unpleasant person she'd ever met.

"Severus!" McGonagall said, with false cheerfulness.  "I was hoping we'd see you!  This is Heather Evans, she'll be starting as a fifth year this September.  Heather, this is Professor Snape, the Potions teacher."

"Nice to meet you," Heather said politely, trying to ignore the Professor's angry glare.  Had she done something she wasn't aware of?  He looked like he was about to rip her head off.

"Yes, I've heard about our new STUDENT."  He drew the last word out, disgustedly.  He eyed her Muggle clothes, his sneer growing bigger.  "Well, Miss _Evans_ - I do look forward to having you in my class," he said sarcastically.  "It will be a real PLEASURE teaching you."  With that, he stalked off.  Professor McGonagall was fuming.  She had half a mind to go after Snape and yell at him for treating Heather like that – especially since it would endanger the secret of Heather's identity.  The girl would want to know why he had acted that way.  And sure enough:

"Did I do something wrong?"  Heather asked, face pale.

"No, dear," McGonagall answered, curbing her desire to turn Snape into a slug.  "He's like that to everyone.  You'll get used to it."

~*~

Heather was sure she'd never worked so hard in her life.  Over the next few days, Professor McGonagall – with help from Professor Flitwick (the tiny Charms wizard), Professor Sprout (the pudgy Herbology witch), Professor Snape (who never altered his rude behavior or surly sneer) and Professor Dumbledore – gave Heather a crash course in magic.  She learned everything – Care of Magical Creatures, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Charms, and a little History of Magic and Potions.  She hardly ever slept, instead spending hours in her room practicing spells and doing homework for the teachers.  It was lucky she enjoyed her new subjects, otherwise the week would have been torture.  But, strangly enough, magic made more sense to her than Algebra or English or Chemistry ever had.  By the end of the week, Heather had third year skill in Charms, fourth year skill in Herbology, second year skill in Potions, and knew most of the important dates for History of Magic.  

"Care of Magical Creatures is rather straight forward," Professor McGonagall assured her one afternoon as she sat behind her desk watching Heather turn a tea kettle into a turtle.  "There aren't really levels to it.  And I expect you know History of Magic better than anyone else will – no one really listens to old Professor Binns.  And don't worry about Professor Snape!"  McGonagall had insisted, correctly interpreting Heather's worried look.  "It will be fine.  You'll catch up quickly once the year starts, and the teachers won't expect as much from you as they will from the other students."  This cheered Heather up a bit.  

Although she whole-heartedly enjoyed her lessons, they weren't her favorite part of the week.  She was allowed to roam the castle at will and she'd spend every free moment gawking at the moving paintings, and got quite a shock when she met a ghost for the first time.  She'd been walking slowly down a hallway, looking at a painting of several grazing cows, when she'd suddenly seen something coming around the corner.  It was sort of a silvery white color and she glanced up quickly.  She saw in front of her a tall, thin man wearing a neck ruff in a sort of Shakespearean style.  She couldn't tell what color his outfit was, because he was translucent and a pale shade of white.  

"Ah!" he'd said, smiling politely, "You must be Heather Evans!  A pleasure to meet you, I'm sure," he seemed not to have noticed that she was staring at him, eyes and mouth wide.  "My name is Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington.  I'm the resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower.  Only the bravest souls get into our honorable house – I hope to see you there!"

"G-ghost?" Heather squeaked.

"Yes, ghost.  I say, are you quite well?  You look rather ill.  You have seen a ghost before haven't you?"

Heather shook her head mutely.

"Really?  My goodness.  Well, don't worry, we don't bite.  You'll see a few more of us about the castle unless I'm much mistaken – just avoid Peeves," he added, face drawn, "He's dreadful, really.  You'll hear him coming, just hide.  Oh, no, don't worry – he can't HURT you – he's just a dreadful bother," he'd floated off eventually, with Heather staring after him.  

On September the first, Heather woke early.  She was really nervous.  She wasn't too worried about being behind in her classes; she was pretty much caught up.  And she wasn't nervous about getting lost on the first day, she knew almost every inch of this castle.  No, the only thing she was really nervous about was meeting everyone.  They'd all been together for four years – who was she?  Some American girl who hadn't even believed in wizards until last week.  Sure, Heather had done the new school thing loads of times.  But somehow this felt different.  She supposed it was because she wasn't prepared for them.  She didn't know what they'd act like – what they'd expect.  In the other schools, it had been the same thing every time – 'Hey, I love your top!' or 'Oh, my gosh!  I've been trying to get my hair to do that for ages!'  And then BAM! She'd been in.  But here… things were different.  These kids were not only witches and wizards – they were British!  All she could do was wait for the Hogwarts Express to come and see what happened.

~*~

Harry Potter walked onto Platform nine and three quarters on the first of September in very high spirits.  He was looking forward to seeing all his friends again, and the Quidditch season would be starting soon with Angelina Johnson as the new Gryffindor team captain.  Their old captain – Oliver Wood – had graduated from Hogwarts two years ago.  Oliver had been a great captain, but he was a bit of a fanatic.  Harry hoped that Angelina would be a bit easier on them.  

"Harry!  In here!" Ron's voice rang out across the nearly empty platform as he jumped out of a compartment to help Harry with his trunk.  "Where have you been?" he panted, heaving the trunk up into the train.  "Hermione and I thought you weren't coming."  The trunk was in place and Harry and Ron had just taken their seats when the train's whistle blew and they started to move.

"The Dursleys didn't give you any trouble, did they?" Hermione asked as a greeting.  Harry rolled his eyes at his two friends.

"Well, first they had to drag Dudley out of the house and into the car.  He was throwing a tantrum about sitting next to me – afraid I might curse him or something.  Anyway, Aunt Petunia has stopped trying to get him on a diet, and he's been celebrating by eating all the food he can fit in his mouth – he's almost bigger than Uncle Vernon now, and they had a rough time pulling him through the door.  Then we got stuck in traffic…" He sighed and leaned back into the seat, smiling.  "But now, I get another Dursley free year.  

"Yeah," Ron said, smiling.  "And I won't have to see Percy – he's dreadful whenever he comes home for a bit.  Fred and George were planning on cursing him, and I would've helped."

"Ron!" Hermione scolded, looking up from her Charms book.

"I'm just kidding!" Ron assured her.  At that moment, Fred and George themselves walked through the compartment door.  The twins were in their seventh and final year at Hogwarts now, and they were looking forward to finally escaping school.  They were planning to start a joke shop after graduation, much to the disappointment of their mother.  

"Hey, Harry!" Fred said brightly.  "How've you been?"

"That pig cousin of yours causing trouble?" George asked, eagerly.  "Because if he is, we'd sell you some Ton Tongue Toffee!  At the low rate of ten Knuts!"

"Er…no thanks."  Harry said.  

The boys shrugged.  "All right.  We're going down the train to sit with Lee – the rest of the team's going to be there as well, Harry.  Are you coming?"

"Maybe later.  Tell Angelina congratulations for me though."

Fred nodded.  "We will.  I'll miss Oliver, but hopefully Angelina won't wake us up at midnight so we can practice in the rain!  'You need to practice in all conditions!'"  Fred said in a deep Scottish brogue, imitating Oliver Wood.  "'You're not taking Hufflepuff seriously – win this game or die trying!'"

Harry laughed. It was a rather good imitation of Wood, and he'd actually said all of those things at one time or another.  Grinning, Fred and George left the compartment and headed off towards the end of the train.  

Hermione looked up from her book again to stare eagerly at Harry.  "I hope Gryffindor win the Cup this year!" she said, excited.

Ron nodded in agreement.  "I'd bet on it!  Angelina will make a great captain.  If she can get a handle on Fred and George, that is," he added with a smile.

Harry nodded in agreement.  His thoughts had drifted away from Quidditch and to the letter he'd written to Sirius about his scar hurting and the dream he'd had about his sister.  Harry's owl, Hedwig, had brought a response quickly.  Sirius had just warned him to be careful this year and not to go looking for trouble, which Harry hadn't been planning on doing anyway.  He never went looking for trouble – it seemed to find him on its own.  As for Harry's dreams, Sirius hadn't made any reply about those.  All he really could've said was 'She's dead, Harry.'  And he already knew that.  Harry supposed he just wanted to tell someone about it.  Leaning his head against the window, Harry watched as the city turned into plowed farmland and grassy hills.  He felt a sudden chill of loneliness.  What would it have been like to have a twin?  Fred and George seemed to love it.  So that was why he was thinking of this.  Fred and George.  Harry bet they'd never been lonely…  Noticing Harry's sudden somberness, Ron raised an eyebrow.

"What's up, Harry?"  He asked, concerned.

"What?  Nothing.  I was just…thinking.  About things."

Hermione closed her book and put it away into her trunk.  "What sort of things?"  She asked gently, sharing a look with Ron.  They both seemed worried at their friend's tone.

Harry shrugged.  "Just…things."

"Family things?" Ron asked, tentatively.

Harry looked up sharply, then sighed.  "Yeah, family things.  My sister."  Again Ron and Hermione exchanged dark looks, but kept silent.  "It's odd; I've thought of her before now, naturally, but I've never been so upset about it for so long.  I – I keep having this dream," he admitted, "I'm not sure what it's about, but she's there, and so's Voldemort, and something awful happens in the end.  I just can't remember it!  I wish I could – it keeps bothering me!"  Hermione nodded sympathetically.

"Harry, you're bound to feel this way sometime – she was your twin sister and she died.  It's awful, and unfair, and you've every right to be angry and upset.  I'd be surprised if you didn't have dreams about her.  But don't worry yourself too much over it!  We're going to have to work extra hard this year in lessons and you can't be distracted by – WHAT?"  She demanded indignantly as Ron started laughing.  Even Harry allowed himself a grin.

"Oh, Hermione – only you could start off talking about Heather Potter and end up talking about school!"  Ron choked out, before dissolving into a fit of laughter again.  Harry knew part of Ron's laughing was forced in an effort to cheer him up, and he appreciated it.  Starting to laugh himself, Harry pulled out a chessboard from his trunk.  

"Anyone for a game?" he asked, feeling better.  "Ron, care to beat me again?"

"Sure!" Ron agreed, calming his laughter.  Hermione sniffed haughtily, and shot a glare at Ron before lifting up her book and starting to read again.  Harry noticed that her glare didn't have an edge; she obviously realized Ron had only been trying to lift Harry's mood.  

The two boys played several games of chess – one of which Harry won, which was a definite improvement on his usual record.  By this time Hermione had put her books away to watch and shrieked loudly at the end of the game, "Oh, Harry!  I don't think anyone's EVER beat Ron at chess before!  That was wonderful!"  

Even Ron was too impressed to be upset at being defeated.  To celebrate, Hermione bought them all Cauldron cakes and several bags of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans from the witch with the food cart.  They were just settling down to a game of Exploding Snap when a few very unwelcome visitors walked into the compartment.  Draco Malfoy – Harry's arch enemy – swaggered in, flanked by his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle.  

"Well, look who we've found, boys!  The famous Harry Potter!  Could I have your autograph, Harry?" he begged in a simpering voice as his friends chuckled appreciatively.  

"Eat dung, Malfoy," Ron commanded sharply.

"Ohhh!" Malfoy said, in mock terror, "Weasel's going to HURT me!  Someone help!  I see you've found a bodyguard, Potter.  Hope you're paying him well.  His family can use all the money they can-" Before Malfoy had finished, Ron tackled him to the ground and started punching him as hard as he could.

"Ron!" Hermione shrieked, as Harry hauled his friend up by the collar of his robes.  Draco struggled to his feet, looking considerably worse for wear.  A bruise was already forming on his left cheek and he was breathing heavily – Ron had obviously gotten him hard in the stomach.  Somehow he managed to get his trademark sneer back on his face.

"Let's go," he muttered to his friends, and they retreated.

"Ron!" Hermione breathed, as Ron slumped back into his seat, scowling.  "I can't BELIEVE you did that – you could get in so much trouble if-" She noticed Harry shaking his head at her and stopped. 

"I don't think Malfoy will tell this to anyone," he muttered to her before sitting down next to Ron, who still looked furious.  "Don't look so down, Ron," he pleaded, "It must've felt GREAT to finally hit him."

"It did," Ron admitted.  "But that doesn't take away what he said.  Or what he's said before."  Harry, knowing he couldn't offer anything to help his friend, went back to looking out the window.  Hermione swallowed hard, forcing down all the things she wanted to say right now; probably something about how she should take points from Gryffindor for Ron fighting.  Harry sighed to himself, and then looked up as he heard a faint choking sound.  Glancing over at Ron, he saw his friend's face was red, and he was covering his mouth with his hand, trying to smother the sound.  Was he CRYING?  

"Ron-" Harry started, uncertainly.  Ron removed his hand from his mouth and started to laugh hysterically.

"Did – you – see-?" he choked out.  "Malfoy – Malfoy's face?  Did you see?"  Ron WAS crying - tears of laughter rolled down his cheeks.  Harry thought of the expression on Malfoy's face and cracked a grin.  He'd looked mortified.  Harry started laughing as well, then to both boy's extreme surprise, Hermione joined in.  

"What?" she asked, still grinning as they stared at her, "He deserved it – and he did look like a surprised ferret," This caused everyone to burst into new peals of laughter as they remembered their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher turning Malfoy into a ferret last year and bouncing him off the floor.  Once everyone had calmed down again, Hermione checked her watch.

            "We must be nearly there," she said, glancing out the window at the dark sky.

            "Good, I'm starving," Ron said, rubbing his stomach.  "I can almost smell the feast!"  The words had barely left his mouth when the train started to slow.  They'd arrived in Hogsmeade at last.  Jumping out of the compartment, the three friends made their way towards one of the carriages that would take them up to the school.  

"Firs' years!"  A familiar voice boomed.  "Firs' years this way.  Alrigh' you three?"  Hagrid's large face beamed over the crowd at them.  They waved as they jumped into a carriage – there was too much commotion to talk with Hagrid.  They were quickly joined by Neville Longbottom, a forgetful boy who was also a Gryffindor fifth year.

            "Hello, Neville!" Hermione said, kindly.  "How was your summer?"

            "Alright," he answered, smiling, "My Gran bought me a new Remembrall – I lost the other one." He dug in his pockets and pulled out a very disgruntled toad – Trevor.  "No, that's not it…" he muttered.  Digging still deeper, his face started to pale.  "Oh, no – I think I've lost it!"  Bumping and rattling, the carriage started up the hill towards another year at Hogwarts.  

Pulling up through the front gates, Harry poked his head out the window to get a look at the stone pillars flanking the tall iron gate.  On top of each pillar were identical winged hogs.  Up ahead loomed the castle, it's many windows sparkling in the night.  

"Maybe this year will be a bit less hectic," Ron said hopefully, shooting meaningful looks at Harry and Hermione.  It was true – the last four years had been rather exciting.  First year it had been the Philosopher's Stone, second year the Chamber of Secrets, third year Sirius Black had broken out of Azkaban, and last year – last year there had been the Triwizard Tournament.

The carriages pulled up in front of the castle and Harry and his friends climbed out along with a swarm of other students and headed towards the Great Hall.  As usual, it was decked out beautifully.  Filling the room were five long tables – one each for Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Hufflepuff, and the High Table for the teachers.  Each table was covered with a white cloth and hundreds of places were set with gleaming golden dishes.  Floating above the tables were candles that gave a lovely light to the scene.  Looking up, Harry saw the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall – it was bewitched to look like the sky outside, and right now the moon and stars lent their own silvery lighting to the room.  Harry found a seat at the Gryffindor table and Ron and Hermione seated themselves on either side of him.  Glancing around, Harry saw all the familiar faces – Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil, Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, Neville, Ginny Weasley, Fred and George…  Harry smiled to himself – he was finally home.  

All the students quickly seated themselves at their respective tables, greeting friends happily.  The chatter died down suddenly as a door leading off the Great Hall opened, and a line of very nervous first years came streaming out.  

"Oh, good!  The Sorting!"  Hermione whispered eagerly.  Professor McGonagall walked into the center of the room carrying a four-legged stool and a ragged, dirty hat – the Sorting Hat.  The Sorting Hat was a very special hat – it could see into the mind of whoever wore it and would be able to tell you which of the four Hogwarts houses you belonged in.  Harry remembered all too well sitting on that stool four years ago and worrying that the Hat would put him in Slytherin.  There was an eager pause and then a split near the Hat's brim opened wide like a mouth, and started to sing:

_A thousand years or more ago,_

_When I was newly sewn,_

_There lived four wizards of renown,_

_Whose names are still well known:_

_Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,_

_Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,_

_Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,_

_Shrewd Slytherin, from fen._

_They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,_

_They hatched a daring plan_

_To educate young sorcerers_

_Thus Hogwarts School began._

_Now each of these four founders_

_Formed their own house, for each_

_Did value different virtues_

_In the ones they had to teach._

_By Gryffindor, the bravest were,_

_Prized far beyond the rest;_

_For Ravenclaw, the cleverest_

_Would always be the best;_

_For Hufflepuff, hard workers were_

_Most worthy of admission;_

_And power-hungry Slytherin_

_Loved those of great ambition._

_While still alive they did divide_

_Their favorites from the throng,_

_Yet how to pick the worthy ones_

_When they were dead and gone?_

_'Twas Gryffindor who found the way,_

_He whipped me off his head_

_The founders put some brains in me_

_So I could choose instead!_

_Now slip me snug about your ears,_

_I've never yet been wrong,_

_I'll have a look inside your mind_

_And tell where you belong!_

When the Hat finished it's song, the Hall burst into applause.  Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and the noise quickly died down.  "When I call your name, you will sit on the stool and put on the Hat," she told the first years sternly.  "When it tells your house, you will go and sit at the appropriate table."  She unrolled a long piece of parchment and started to call names.  

"Abern, Thomas!"  A boy with blond hair jumped at his name, nervously walked to the stool and pulled the Hat onto his head.  It considered for a moment, then cried out, "Ravenclaw!"  Cheers erupted from the Ravenclaw table as Thomas shakily made his way toward the crowd.  Harry's eyes traveled along the line of queasy looking first years and landed on a girl at the end of the row who was standing slightly apart from the others.  She looked just as frightened as the first years, but she obviously wasn't one of them.  She looked about the same age as Harry and he saw that she was very pretty – her red hair shone in the soft light and her large gray eyes sparkled, reflecting the candle's flames.  

"Who do you think she is?" Harry murmured to his friends, pointing in the girl's direction. 

Ron and Hermione tore their eyes away from 'Allen, Grace' who had just been put into Hufflepuff to see who Harry was pointing at.  "Dunno," Ron said, shrugging.  "A transfer, perhaps.  That happens sometimes – families move from other countries, things like that."

Hermione nodded.  "I hope she gets sorted into our house; I'd like to know where she's from."  Harry kept looking at the girl even after his friends had returned to the ceremony.  There was something familiar about her… but what?  Suddenly, she glanced up and looked straight into Harry's eyes.  The two of them stared at each other for a moment before the girl broke eye contact to watch a pretty girl be sorted into Gryffindor.  Harry clapped and cheered with the rest of his house as 'Chosco, Marina' joined his table.  Forgetting about the red haired girl, Harry returned his attention to the Sorting Hat and watched as student after student put on the cap and was sorted into different houses.

Heather watched nervously as a small girl with thin blonde hair was put into Hufflepuff house.  Her stomach felt like it was doing jumping jacks and her palms were all sweaty.  The slow breathing exercises weren't helping.  The line was shortening.  For a few minutes, she'd been too amazed by the Hat's song to think about all the people watching her, but she had gotten over that and now she was just nervous again.  What if she got up there and just sat on the stool for ages?  What if the Hat didn't Sort her, or told everyone that she wasn't magical enough to go to Hogwarts?

Heather could suddenly feel someone watching her, their eyes boring into her back.  She glanced around and saw Professor Snape glaring right at her.  He didn't bother to avert his gaze when she noticed him, he just narrowed his eyes and sneered.  She smiled sweetly back and he looked away.  But even after Snape had looked away, Heather felt eyes on her.  Glancing to her right, she saw him.  

A boy, about her age, was seated at the Gryffindor table and staring right at her.  He had messy black hair and round glasses.  Even from where she was standing, she could see his eyes were a vivid shade of green.  He looked sort of familiar – like she'd met him once but hadn't really been paying attention at the time.  She quickly dismissed the feeling and looked away to watch a pretty girl be sorted into Gryffindor.

All too soon, the first years had all been sorted and people couldn't help noticing her.  Whispers filled the hall as everyone stared, trying to figure out what Heather was doing there.  Professor McGonagall started speaking again.  

"Everyone, your attention, please!" she called out.  The whispers stopped abruptly.  "Thank you.  This is Heather Evans.  She's a new student here and will be starting with the fifth years.  She will now be Sorted."  The professor gave Heather a quick nod and smile and stepped back, leaving Heather and the Hat alone in front of the Hall.  Summoning up all her bravery, Heather walked steadily to the stool and pulled the hat onto her head, sitting down as she did so.  The hat fell over her eyes so she couldn't see the people watching her.  

"Hmmm… very interesting.  There's a lot of wizarding blood in you, that's for sure!  I don't know how anyone could've missed it.  Yes, yes, you'll do quite well here, I don't doubt it.  Now, down to business.  Well, quite the sharp wit – and not too slow to learn, either.  My, my!  You learned all that in just a week?  Very impressive.  Ravenclaw would like you, that's for certain.  And you're also a hard worker – like Hufflepuffs – ah, no, you're not quite Hufflepuff material.  You have the Gryffindor bravery I see – yes, he would've liked you, I believe.  Yes, maybe… or Slytherin, perhaps?  You want to prove yourself – show everyone that you can make it… Oh, my, you certainly are ambitious.  Going to prove everyone wrong some day, eh?  Going to shock the world.  And you've got power.  Lots of power.  Slytherin would be good for you…" Heather listened to the Hat, panic rising in her chest.  Professor Snape was the head of Slytherin House – she couldn't be there!  She'd rather die at the hands of Voldemort than spend the entire year with him!  "Well, if you're that sure of it, I suppose Slytherin isn't right for you," the Hat went on, sounding faintly amused.  "Are you sure?  All right, then, let's see…you care about others, not just yourself…yes, Gryffindor would have liked you VERY much.  But Ravenclaw would suit you as well…" Suddenly the Hat gave a gasp.  "OH MY!  I see!  WELL!  That explains quite a bit doesn't it?  Well, then that changes everything!  There's no doubt about it young lady – you belong in GRYFFINDOR!"  The last word was shrieked out for the whole Hall to hear and Heather gave a shaky sigh of relief as she pulled off the Hat and headed for the Gryffindors, who were cheering wildly.  

As she approached the table, she noticed the boy with black hair smiling at her and she smiled back as her stomach slowly stopped pitching.  Up close, she saw that he looked really friendly, and she liked him immediately.  A girl with thick brown hair and a wide smile pulled an empty chair over and placed it between herself and the boy.

"Sit here!"

"Thanks," Heather said gratefully, as she sat down and looked around.  She was really glad to be out of the spotlight.  Glancing to her right, she saw the boy with black hair and another boy with red hair watching her.  She smiled politely at them and the red haired boy looked like he was about to speak, but suddenly closed his mouth and looked up at the High Table.  Heather followed his gaze and saw that Dumbledore was standing up raising his hands for silence, which he quickly got.

"Welcome to another wonderful year at Hogwarts School!" he said, beaming at them.  "We have some fine new students here this year, and I'm sure you will all be a credit to your new houses!  I'd like to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher – Professor Bassett."  Everyone clapped politely as a tall man with thinning brown hair waved around at them, smiling.  The smile didn't quite reach his eyes, which darted around the Hall quickly, taking in all the students.  It seemed to Heather that he was filing all of them away into his memory so that if he ever saw one of them making trouble, he'd remember what house they were in.  Heather wasn't sure she really liked him.  

"As usual, the Forbidden Forest is off limits to all students – avoid it.  And Mr. Argus Filch, the caretaker, reminds you to please refrain from using magic in the corridors in between classes.  As a result of the current issues with Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore continued, his tone suddenly dark, "I remind all students that they may not be outside of their common rooms after eight o'clock without special permission from a teacher.  Punishments for this are now doubled.  I assure you that you are perfectly safe from sudden attack here at Hogwarts, but we can never be too careful."  He looked around the Hall at the somber faces – the first years looked frightened and bewildered, the other students looked saddened – Harry figured they were all remembering Cedric Diggory, who had been killed by Voldemort just last year during the Triwizard Tournament.  Harry gave a shudder; he'd been there when Cedric had been killed and it had been the worst experience of his life.  "Now, on that cheerful note," Dumbledore said after a pause.  A few people smiled, and the mood was lightened.  "Please enjoy the feast!  Thank you!"  

Heather looked down and gasped, the huge dishes were filled with all sorts of food – meats, vegetables, sauces, breads, drinks – everything!  Glancing around, she saw everyone starting to eat, so she followed their example.  The food was just as good as it looked, and she could hardly stop eating, even when the girl who had pulled up a chair for her started asking questions.  

"So, what country are you from?  Ireland?" she guessed.

Heather reluctantly put her fork full of potatoes back on the plate.  "No, America," she replied, smiling politely.  "Ever been there?"  

Hermione shook her head, eyes wide.  She'd expected the girl to be from another country, but not one as far away as America!  

"Did you just move here?"  The boy with the black hair asked.  

"Uh…yeah." No need to set them straight until she knew them better.  Besides, Dumbledore had said that most people here didn't know that Peter Pettegrew was alive – how would she explain him kidnapping her?  Looking past the boy, she saw several other students watching her.  There was a girl with curly blonde hair, a round-faced boy, a very pretty girl with blue eyes, and three other boys – one with sandy hair, one with black hair, and the red haired boy she'd noticed before.  They all seemed to be about her age, and were listening to every detail of the conversation.  The girl with the thick brown hair and the boy with the black hair and glasses seemed to be the spokespeople or something – the others weren't saying a word.  

"Oh my goodness!"  The girl with brown hair said suddenly.  "We're being so rude!  I'm Hermione Granger."  Having received their cue, the others all introduced themselves as well.

"Lavender Brown.  Hello," said the girl with the curly hair.

"Parvati Patil.  Nice to meet you," added the pretty girl with blue eyes.  The boy with the round face was Neville Longbottom, the boy with sandy hair was Seamus Finnigan, who seemed to be Irish, and the boy with black hair was Dean Thomas.  The redhead had just introduced himself as Ron Weasley, and that left only the boy with the black hair who had been watching Heather earlier.  "Harry Potter," he said.  That name sounded somehow familiar.  

"Well, it's really nice to meet all of you.  I'll try to keep all of these names straight," she said with a smile.  They all gave her friendly smiles in return and slowly went back to eating.  

"So what's it like in America?" Hermione asked, eagerly.

"Hermione, let her eat!" cried Ron, "She's hungry, you can pummel her with questions later!" he winked at Heather and she smiled back.  Hermione rolled her eyes and glared at Ron.

"I'm sorry," she said to Heather, apologetically.  "It's just fascinating – hearing how another magical culture lives.  I bet American wizards are much different from British ones!"  She looked eager for information.

"Well, uh…" Heather didn't know what to say.  She could make something up – but she didn't want to deepen the lie she'd already started.  She wanted to be herself here – not the fake person she used to gain popularity at her other schools.  She'd sworn to herself that no matter how long she stayed here, she wasn't going to give any false compliments to get friends.  

"Well, it's hard to describe."  She said, lamely.  "I haven't seen enough of the uh… magical community in Britain to know the differences.  But we certainly don't have castles in America!"  She guessed that was a safe bet.  But Hermione's question had given her something else to think about – there were witches and wizards in America.  A whole magical society, and she'd never known!  

"What was your old school like?" Harry asked.  Harry Potter, Harry Potter – why was that so familiar to her?  She looked over at the boy sitting next to her.  When she'd first seen him, she'd thought he looked familiar…  How did she know him?  Then she remembered – Dumbledore had said it just a week ago: '…fourteen years ago, Voldemort went after a family known as the Potters.  He killed Lily and James Potter and their daughter.  But when Voldemort tried to kill the Potter's other child – Harry – he was unable to.  People say that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter, the Dark Lord's power broke, and he was banished to live a sort of half-life – only a consciousness floating about without powers or a body.  Harry Potter became famous in our world…' She'd been picturing Harry Potter as some wise and powerful old man who resembled Dumbledore himself – but Dumbledore had said fourteen years ago; Harry would be her age!  This boy must be him… but he looked so normal!  She was staring at him, his question completely forgotten.  Something on his forehead caught her eye – a thin scar shaped like a bolt of lightning.  She swallowed hard.  She had that same scar.  But he had probably gotten his from Voldemort when he had tried to kill him.  Harry saw where she was staring, and tried to flatten his hair over the scar.  

"Harry Potter?" Heather asked, "THE Harry Potter?"  Harry was too embarrassed to notice that this girl wasn't doing the usual wide eyed you're-my-hero look he got from most people.  She looked impressed, but wasn't about to ask for a signed picture or something.

Harry blushed and nodded, mumbling, "Yeah."

"Cool!"  Heather said brightly and went back to eating, without another glance in his direction.  Harry couldn't fail to notice this, and shared a surprised glance with his friends.  "Oh, sorry!" Heather said, misinterpreting their looks.  "You asked a question before, right?  What was it?"

"Er…I forgot," Harry said, truthfully.  He liked that this girl didn't fawn over him.  It was a relief not to have to worry about someone staring at his scar all day.  

"Sorry," Heather said, blushing slightly, "I hate that – when someone interrupts me, and then I forget what I'm gonna say – it's so annoying!"  

A grin spread across Harry's face.  "Don't worry about it," he said.  He definitely liked this girl.

Heather went back to eating again, as did Harry, Hermione and Ron.  She liked these three a lot.  She wasn't quite sure why – she hardly knew them.  But she felt close to them, like she could be completely honest with them – especially Harry.  Suddenly, something else clicked.  Last week, just after Dumbledore had told about Harry surviving Voldemort, he'd advised her not to tell anyone about Peter Pettegrew because almost everyone thought he was dead.  '…the only people at this school who know that Peter is alive and working for Voldemort are myself, Professor McGonagall, Harry Potter, and two of his friends.'  That's what Dumbledore had said – Hermione and Ron must be the friends!  They'd believe her if she told them about Peter – and she really wanted to.  She wanted to tell someone – and she REALLY didn't want to lie to them for the rest of the year, or however long she got to stay here.  

But what if Dumbledore didn't WANT her to tell anyone?  She glanced up at the Headmaster, who was deep in conversation with Professor Bassett.  Would it really matter so much if she told these three?  What would they do?  They'd already lived with the secret of Peter being alive; so what if she told them she'd met him?  But some sense of loyalty to Dumbledore stopped her from opening her mouth right then and there to tell them everything.  She was still watching Dumbledore when he suddenly glanced up and looked her right in the eye.  He smiled kindly, blue eyes twinkling, and nodded.  Heather's eyes widened – did he mean what she thought he meant?  He gave another nod.  Heather smiled at him and turned her gaze back to the three people sitting next to her.  

"Uh, guys?" she asked, hesitating.  Hermione, Harry and Ron looked up.  

"Yes?" Hermione asked, after swallowing.  

Heather glanced around, seeing if anyone else was within earshot.  Lowering her voice, she continued.  "What do you know about Peter Pettegrew?" The three of them gaped at her.  Whatever they'd been expecting, this obviously wasn't it.

"Peter Pettegrew?" Hermione squeaked.  "Why?" 

"Well, I was just curious.  Because I know something about him," she was trying to send them hints without giving away the show.  "And Dumbledore told me that Harry Potter and two of his friends know something about him.  You might be interested in what I know – if you know something."  That sentence hadn't really gone the way she'd hoped, but the others seemed to get the point.

"We'll talk about it later," Harry murmured.  "In the library after the last class tomorrow.  Heather nodded in agreement.  

Hermione looked too excited to eat anything.  "Have you seen him?" she asked, quietly.  "Did you see his hand?"  

Heather shuddered.  "Yeah, I saw it.  I thought it was a glove at first, ya know?  Like a Michael Jackson thing."  

"Who?" Ron asked, confused.  

"Never mind," Heather answered, shaking her head.  "I'll explain everything tomorrow."  The others nodded in agreement.

The rest of the feast went by way too fast.  Heather, Ron, Hermione, and Harry talked the whole time – mostly about Hogwarts and their families.  Every once in a while, one of them would ask a question about Heather's school or family, and she'd have to quickly steer the conversation in another direction.  By the time the dessert course was served, Heather knew every detail of how the three of them had rescued the Philosopher's Stone in their first year, closed the Chamber of Secrets in their second year, and faced the challenges of the Triwizard Tournament in their forth year.  

"That is SO amazing!" Heather said, eyes wide, at the end of the stories.  "I have honestly NEVER heard anything like that before in my life!"  It was true.  She'd learned more about the magical world just from hearing these stories then she had from her History of Magic books – and she'd studied them for a whole week!

"So I know that your parents are Muggles, Hermione," Heather said, thinking about the story of the Chamber of Secrets and how the Basilisk had paralyzed Hermione because she was part Muggle.  "But what about you two?  Are you from all wizard families?"  Ron then told her about the huge Weasley family – his parents, his oldest brother Bill who worked for Gringotts – the wizard bank run by goblins, then Charlie, who was studying dragons in Romania, then Percy who worked for the Ministry of Magic, the twins – Fred and George who were in their seventh year, and Ginny, who was in her forth.  By the time they all stumbled up to Gryffindor Tower to go to bed, Heather knew all about how dreadfully annoying Percy was, how Fred and George were going to start a joke shop, and how Ginny was madly in love with Harry.

"Come off it," Harry had mumbled, blushing furiously as Ron had hooted with laughter.  Hermione and Heather took one look at Harry's face and joined in.  Heather was introduced to the twins and Ginny – all of whom she liked enormously.  She also heard about Harry's family – his mother and father and sister Heather who had all died in Voldemort's attack, and how he had to go live with his mother's sister – Aunt Petunia.  He described the horrible life with his relatives, and received Heather's full sympathy.

"At least when you graduate you can turn them all into slugs or something," Heather reminded him, by way of consolation.  Harry grinned and told Heather about the time he had – in a way – gotten back at the Dursleys.  He described Uncle Vernon's sister Marge coming to visit and how he accidentally blew her up like a balloon and floated her to the ceiling.  By the end of that story, both Heather and Ron were laughing so hard they couldn't breath.  Hermione just looked stern.  

"It's not funny," she insisted, as Harry started to laugh himself.  "Harry could've gotten expelled.  You wouldn't be laughing then, Ron.  Or you Harry!"  

"Oh, Hermione!" Ron choked out.  "You know you think it's funny, too!  She deserved it, the old-" he then called Aunt Marge a name that made Hermione say 'RON!' which made them all laugh even harder.  

Harry slumped into his bed in the boy's dormitory at the top of Gryffindor Tower.  "See you tomorrow, Ron," he mumbled, already half asleep.  Ron answered with a loud snore, and Harry smiled to himself.  And there were no Dursleys to wake up to!  Today had been good – he liked Heather, and he could tell that Ron and Hermione did as well.  They didn't really know much about her…  Hopefully she'd explain the next day in the library.  Perhaps they'd found another member to the group.  That would be nice.  He and Ron had only realized last year that Hermione was a real live girl, and he knew that being with a couple of boys like he and Ron could get on any girl's nerves.  Heather and Hermione had seemed to get along rather well.  Harry hoped that Heather liked studying.

**A/N: Ok, ok, kind of a lame-o ending, I know.  It's not actually supposed to be the end of the part, but for the convenience of the reader, I thought I'd make it shorter than 61 pages.  (This is only 37)  So I've got another part I'll post soon, but beyond that I got nothin'.  My school just started Thanksgiving break, so I'm gonna start work on the story again.  So, hopefully tomorrow I'll post the next part, but after that, you'll be on your own for a while. But don't give up, cuz in my opinion, the next section is the best!**


	3. The Plot Thickens

            The next day dawned bright and clear.  Heather woke up a little after six in the morning, and was too excited to go back to bed.  Her first day of magic school!  What would it be like?  She was dressed and ready to go before the other girls even moved.  She sat on her bed, going over the notes she'd taken over the past week and trying to curb the strong desire to wake up Hermione.  Finally, at eight o'clock, the other girls in the room started getting up.  

            "Good morning!" Heather said brightly as Parvati blinked and sat up.

            "Good morning," Hermione yawned, "Let me get ready and I'll go to breakfast with you," she said, heaving herself out of bed and digging in her trunk for her school robes.  Heather shoved her notes into her bag along with her books and wand and waited impatiently by the door.  Finally, Hermione was ready.  The two girls started down the long staircase and reached the common room, where they saw several other students heading out the portrait hole towards breakfast.  

            "What do they serve for breakfast here?" Heather asked.  The feast last night had been delicious, but she'd heard all these stories about awful English food.  She was pretty sure they were myths, but she wanted to know what she was eating.  She knew for a fact that the English made steak and kidney pies, and she tried to avoid eating organs of any kind.  

            "English breakfast," Hermione answered.  At Heather's curious look, she explained.  "There's eggs, sausage, tomato, sometimes potatoes, toast, tea, all that sort of things."

            "Sounds edible," Heather said with approval.  "Pancakes?"

            Hermione shrugged.  "Sometimes.  French toast usually."  

            "Even better.  I think I'll be able to manage here," she said, grinning.  Hermione smiled as they walked into the Great Hall.  Heather looked up at the ceiling.  "Looks like a nice day."  She'd been getting more used to the castle's oddities, but she still found the enchanted ceiling awfully interesting, and looked at it every chance she got.  She and Hermione seated themselves at the half full Gryffindor table and started to pile their plates with food.

            "See that boy over there?  The blond one sitting at the Slytherin table?" Hermione asked.

            Heather nodded.  "What about him?"

            "Stay away from him.  That's Draco Malfoy – the meanest student here.  Those ugly brutes on either side of him are Crabbe and Goyle – his cronies.  They're not too bright, but Draco is.  He hates Harry because he's famous and popular.  He hates me because my parents are Muggle so I'm not a 'pureblood'.  And he's always dreadful to Ron because his family doesn't have much money – he's always making fun of all of us.  Don't let him find out anything about you, or he'll come after you as well."  

Heather nodded again, making a face.  "What a complete jerk!"  She exclaimed.  "Don't worry about me, I knew people like him at some of my old schools."

            "Some of them?" Hermione asked, curiously as she buttered her toast.  "How many have you been to?"

            "Uhh… I meant – the school I went to before my magic school.  The one where I learned math and stuff," she hoped this was a good explanation.  Apparently her answer was alright, because Hermione nodded and started eating.  Heather eyed her tea.  Didn't they have juice?  She was just looking around the table for some when she heard a familiar voice.

            "Hello.  What's for breakfast?" She turned around to see Harry and Ron – who still looked half asleep – seating themselves on either side of the girls.

            "French toast," Heather informed him as Hermione tried to answer around a huge bite of toast.  She nodded in agreement and went back to her eggs.

            "Mmmm," Harry said, smiling.  Even Ron perked up a bit.  

            "Hermione was just warning me about Draco Malfoy and his friends," Heather told the boys.  Ron winced and then went back to pouring his tea, and Harry glanced over at the Slytherin table.

            "Memorize all their faces," he said, grimly.  "Not a decent human being among them, from what I've seen.  Mind you, I try to limit my contact with them, so I can't speak for everyone.  Oh, here come the schedules," he said, taking a pile of papers from Lavender Brown, who was sitting next to him.  He handed the stack to Heather, who took the one with her name on it and passed it to Hermione.  

            "Herbology first," Ron commented.  "Then Transfiguration, lunch, then – ugh!  Potions with the Slytherins!  Well, Heather, you'll be able to see first hand why we hate them.  Lucky you."

            "Professor Snape is Potions master," Hermione explained.  

            "Oh, great," Heather moaned, "Snape hates me already – I'm guaranteed to fail his class."

            Harry shared surprised looks with his friends.  "Snape hates you?  When did you have time to make him angry?"

            "I've been here for the past week.  I don't know what I did, but it was literally true hate at first sight.  He sneered at me and then started being sarcastic right off.  I don't know what his deal is."

            "No one does.  But after that we have Defense Against the Dark Arts, so we can see how Bassett is," Ron pointed out.  He, like Harry, was obviously wondering why Heather had been here for so long.  Hermione seemed to be thinking along the same lines, but none of them asked anything, and Heather didn't offer any additional information.  They finished breakfast without much conversation, content with a sleepy silence.  When they got up to go to first class, Heather was the first to speak.  

            "Ok, guys – you have to help me.  I know every inch of the castle, but I have no idea where the Herbology classroom is.  Did I miss a floor or something?"

            Hermione smiled.  "No, Herbology is outside in the greenhouses.  Didn't you go outside while you were here?"

            Heather shook her head as the group pushed open the big front doors.  "Wasn't allowed," she answered shortly.  Harry nodded slowly, realizing that Dumbledore probably had told Heather not to go outside the castle on her own because of Voldemort.  It made sense.  Ron and Harry were silent while they climbed the sloping hill towards the green houses.  They listened to Hermione chatter excitedly to Heather about all the plants they'd studied over the past years.  Heather looked fascinated, which to Harry said that she was an outstanding actress.  Ron looked just as bored by Hermione's lecture as he was.

            "What do you think?" Ron asked Harry in a whisper.

            "About Herbology?" he asked, confused.

            "No!" Ron hissed, annoyed.  "About Heather.  What do you think she's hiding?"

            "Oh, that," Harry replied in a whisper as Hermione informed Heather that the cry of the Mandrake's roots was fatal.  "I don't know.  I guess we'll find out this afternoon." Ron nodded, but he didn't look satisfied.  They finally arrived at the greenhouses along with the other Gryffindor and Hufflepuff fifth years.  Professor Sprout, a squat witch with dirt all over her apron, greeted them at the front door.

"Hurry up, dears!  No dilly-dallying!  Here we are.  Well, it's nice to see you all again," she said, smiling.  "Today, we'll be going into Greenhouse three – some of you may remember the Mandrakes we looked after in there a few years ago.  Now, off we go!"  With that, she turned and headed towards the farthest greenhouse.  The students trailed after her, several of the Hufflepuffs shooting curious glances at Heather, who met their stares with a smile.  It seemed to work; they smiled back.

            "Four to a table; get your seats!" Professor Sprout called out as students scrambled to desks.  Professor Sprout approached Hermione, who was settling around a table with Harry, Ron, and Heather.  "Miss Granger, would you assist Miss Evans with the procedure?" she asked quietly.  Hermione gave her a curious look, but nodded.  The professor smiled and headed back to the front of the room.  Hermione sat still for a moment, thinking.  Why would Heather need help?  She was a fifth year, just like everyone else.  Maybe her old school had different curriculum than Hogwarts.  Perhaps she'd never studied Herbology before.  That was it.

            Heather sat riveted to the spot.  Her first magical lesson!  This was so exciting!  She hardly noticed when Professor Sprout came up to Hermione and whispered something to her.  She didn't even notice the odd looks Hermione kept shooting her during the class.  She was completely wrapped up in the lesson about Adlebups – small, purple plants that looked like some kind of seaweed, but shot out a liquid like acid if you got too close.  Everyone had to wear dragon hide gloves, facemasks, and goggles, which would usually bother Heather, but right now she didn't care.  She avidly took notes on the poultice that would cure Adlebup burns and on where they could be found.  For homework, they had to look up the uses for diluted Adlebup juice and write a paragraph describing them.  Heather found that she could hardly wait.  

            "So what do you think of Hogwarts so far?" Ron asked, trying to rub away the lines the goggles made on his face.

            Heather grinned.  "I love it," she replied, without hesitation.

            Harry smiled.  The wide eyed wonder in Heather's eyes was so familiar – he was sure he must have looked just like that when he first came to Hogwarts.  "I'm going to have to borrow your notes," he said, apologetically.  "Mine aren't that good – I kept being distracted by the Adlebup inching its pot towards me.  It was creepy." Heather laughed.  

            "Transfiguration next.  Heather, what extra classes are you taking?" Hermione asked.

            "Uhh…" she dug in her bag for her schedule.  "Care of Magical Creatures and Divination.  Professor McGonagall didn't seem to like Divination when I mentioned it to her, something about Death Omens…"

            Hermione nodded, rolling her eyes.  "Every year, Professor Trelawney predicts the death of a student.  In our year, it's Harry.  I quit Divination in third year – it's a very unpredictable branch of magic," she added with a haughty sniff.

            Heather laughed again as they stepped into the cool, dark castle again.  "You sound exactly like Professor McGonagall.  She told me that like a million times.  But I think it's fascinating – even if it doesn't work all the time, that's how I grew up thinking of magic."

"Oh, so you're Muggle born?" Hermione asked, interested.  She realized suddenly how little they knew about Heather.  

            Heather looked momentarily surprised and then quickly answered, "Yeah, I am," she breathed a mental sigh of relief.  Muggle born – why hadn't she thought of that?  It would be a good excuse if she ever slipped up.  But hopefully after today she wouldn't have to lie anymore.  She hardly knew these people, but already she considered them her friends.  It didn't feel right lying to them.  Before she knew it, they were at the Transfiguration classroom.  She filed in after Hermione, and was followed by Ron and Harry.  The four of them headed towards seats in the back, but before they could sit down, Professor McGonagall spoke up.

            "Miss Granger, may I see you at my desk please?" Professor McGonagall called from the front of the room.  Hermione turned and headed toward the professor, nervously.  What was this about?  Had she done something wrong?  She felt eyes on her back – everyone else was just as surprised as she was.  Hermione Granger the Prefect being called up by a teacher?  That had never happened before!  Hermione cleared her throat nervously and looked up at Professor McGonagall, who smiled kindly.  Hermione blinked in surprise.  It didn't seem like she was in trouble – what was it?

"Hermione – I don't need to tell you that you're one of the best students I've ever had the honor of teaching," the professor said in a hushed voice as Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas walked into the room.  Hermione glowed at the unexpected praise.  "So I need you to do something for me.  Heather Evans is a new student here, and I was hoping you'd give her a hand with her class work and homework for the first month or two."  

Hermione stared.  Why did Heather need help with Transfiguration?  She seemed like a good student, she was hanging on Hermione's every word about school work, she'd done well in Herbology – but now both Professor Sprout and McGonagall had asked her to give Heather a hand.  The Herbology bit could be explained - maybe Heather had never studied magical plants before.  But Transfiguration…that was something all schools taught, Hermione was sure of it.  A million questions popped into her mind, but she held her tongue and nodded at the professor, who smiled gratefully.

"Thank you, Hermione.  You may return to your seat." Harry and Ron shot her questioning looks, but she shook her head in a way that plainly said 'later'.  Heather looked at her, concerned, and mouthed 'what?'.  Hermione shook her head again, but this time it was more of a 'never mind' shake.  She had to talk to Harry and Ron alone, soon.

~*~

            Heather sat eagerly in her seat, waiting for class to start.  Hermione still looked a bit worried about whatever Professor McGonagall had told her, but she was also looking impatient for the lesson to start.  This was going to be good.

            Throughout the lesson, Hermione kept an eye on Heather.  She had looked a little uncomfortable during the quiz to see what they remembered from last year, but so had Ron, Neville and a few others.  They didn't have a practical lesson, like in Herbology – instead they read from their books and got a homework assignment about the chapter on the higher levels of Transfiguration, which Hermione found fascinating.  They left the classroom in high spirits and chatting away about what they would do if they could transfigure anything in the world.  

            "I'd make myself look like a movie star," Heather said, dreamily.  "Like Sarah Michelle Gellar or something."

            "I'd turn brussel sprouts into lumps of cookie dough," Hermione decided finally.  She hated brussel sprouts.

            "I'd turn the Dursleys into worms," Harry said, smiling at the thought.  "Maybe pigs… I'll have to think about it a bit longer."

            "What would you do, Weasley?"  A cold, sneering voice rang through the hall.  The four friends whirled around to face Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle.  "Transfigure everything into gold so your family wouldn't have to starve?"  Everyone in the bustling hall stopped to listen to the exchange.  Ron made a lunge at Malfoy, but Harry grabbed his arm and pulled him back.  

            "McGonagall!" he hissed in his friend's ear.  He was right – Professor McGonagall was three doors away and would be coming out of her room to go to lunch at any moment.  Ron nodded to show he understood and Harry let go of him.  Ron, face beat red, turned away and started to walk in the direction of the Great Hall, closely followed by his friends.

            "What's the matter, Weasley?  Embarrassed by your family?" Malfoy called out.  Ron stopped dead and turned back around, trembling with rage.  He looked about ready to tear Malfoy's head off, and Harry looked ready to help.  Staring at the pale boy in front of him, Harry noticed the dark bruise covering Malfoy's left cheek.  So that was why he was doing this.  Because Ron hit him.

            The frozen crowd was made up primarily of Gryffindors (who looked furious), and Slytherins (who were laughing appreciatively).  Crabbe and Goyle guffawed, but it seemed to Heather that they were too stupid to understand what was going on.  Malfoy allowed himself a chuckle, cold eyes never leaving Ron's face.  But before Harry and Ron could leap at him, Heather stepped forward.

            "Wow, Malfoy.  That's hilarious.  Did you think of that all by yourself, or did you get help from those two?"  She gestured to Crabbe and Goyle, who stopped laughing when they heard the ice in Heather's voice.  They weren't quite sure what she meant, but Draco looked angry, and the other Slytherins had stopped laughing, so it couldn't be good.  The Gryffindors turned and watched Heather now, smiles starting on their faces. 

            "What?" Asked Draco, a bit taken aback himself.

            "Are you deaf AND stupid?" Heather asked innocently.

            "Got yourself a new fan Potter?" The Slytherins started laughing again.  "I see you've gone international."

            "What's the matter, Malfoy?  Jealous?" Heather asked, voice calm.

            "Jealous?"  Malfoy cried, with a bark of laughter.  "Why would I be jealous of Potter?  At least I have parents!"  Draco knew at once he'd gone too far, but he didn't care.  He hardly noticed the Slytherins' worried looks, hardly heard the Gryffindors cry out angrily, or Granger shriek "How DARE you!"  He was staring straight at that girl, who was staring straight back.

            "I don't know, Malfoy.  If I were you, I'd be jealous of Harry.  At least he HAS friends.  All you've got are dumb and dumber there, and just between you and me, that act is kinda tired."

            Malfoy glared at the girl, then past her.  Harry and Ron both looked ready to kill.  So did every other Gryffindor.  He'd better get out of this fast.  

"This isn't over," he told the girl icily.  

            "The fun's just beginning," she agreed, glancing at something over Malfoy's shoulder.  He turned and saw why Heather was starting to smile.  Professor McGonagall was striding towards them, and she looked didn't look happy.  Draco could practically see the steam coming from her ears.

            "What is going on here?" she snarled.  Malfoy opened his mouth to answer, but the professor waved him aside.  "I don't want to hear it from you, Mr. Malfoy.  I've no doubt you'll lie.  Miss Brown!  What is happening here?"

            Lavender started to explain, but she wasn't the only one.  Every person in the hall started calling out their side of the story until the professor screamed for quiet.  She finally got Lavender's version of events, which was almost perfect except she left out the bit where Ron had tried to attack Malfoy.  When she was done, McGonagall asked Crabbe what he thought happened, but his story didn't make much sense and involved a lot of 'Er's and 'Um's.  The professor took five points from Slytherin and gave Malfoy a detention.  After that, they all went to lunch in much lower spirits than they'd started with.  Ron and Harry perked up when Seamus told them that Malfoy's detention would be scrubbing the floor of the Great Hall ("With a toothbrush!" Seamus said, excitedly).  Although they doubted that Seamus was being completely honest – especially about the toothbrush bit – it was fun to think about.

"Wonder what Potions'll be like," Heather mused, eyeing her Shepard's Pie doubtfully.

            Ron groaned.  "Just when I was feeling better!"

~*~

            Potions was, indeed, awful.  Malfoy didn't do anything exceptionally rude, he just shot glares at Heather throughout the whole lesson.  

But Malfoy wasn't the only person Heather had to worry about.  Snape seemed to hate her as much as he did Harry, and it looked like he enjoyed having two students to harass instead of just one.  The Slytherins enjoyed his cruelness whole-heartedly – especially when Snape opened the lesson by giving Heather an oral exam in front of the class so he could see what she knew.  

            "Ah, Miss Evans.  Our new student.  If you don't mind, I'll just give you a quick exam to find out what your previous potions teachers have taught you."

            Heather had nodded, looking somewhat nauseous.  There was no mistaking the mocking tone in Snape's voice.

            "What is the power of Hemel Juice?" Harry waited for Heather to answer, but she didn't say anything.  Glancing over at her, he saw she looked completely stumped.  But this question was easy!  He'd learned all about Hemel Juice in first year – it was a poison that clogged the arteries, but was very easy to detect.  Harry thought everyone knew about it.  The Slytherins were obviously thinking the same thing, and weren't bothering to hide their sniggering.

            "I don't know," Heather said, quietly.  She looked furious.  Harry exchanged a look with Ron and Hermione, they looked as surprised as he felt.  Heather didn't know what Hemel Juice did?  

Snape then proceeded to ask Heather a string of easy questions – none of which she knew the answer to.  Finally, she seemed to snap.  "I don't know," she said, voice shaking.  "Maybe if you were a better teacher, I would.  But I don't."  Everyone in the class turned to stare at her in horror.  No one talked to Snape like that!

"Twenty points from Gryffindor!" he roared.  "And a detention for you, Miss Evans!"  Snape was, fortunately, too angry to teach the class and just gave them bookwork.  He pulled himself together at the end of the lesson to give them extra homework ("To cure Miss Evans' ignorance.") and they were off.

"I'm really sorry," she said to her friends as they left the dungeons.

"Why?" Ron almost shouted.  He didn't take well to Snape embarrassing his friends in public.

"I lost us twenty points!" she exclaimed, "On my first day!  I shouldn't have lost my temper; I was just thinking about Malfoy, and then Snape was being…" she tailed off, frowning.

"Don't worry!" Hermione said reassuringly, patting Heather's arm.  "Everyone loses points – especially in Potions.  Once, Harry, Neville, and I lost 150 points in one night!  And that was from Professor McGonagall!" This revelation seemed to shock Heather out of her miserable mood.

"You?  You lost Gryffindor 150 points?  Hermione, you rebel!" she exclaimed, a grin breaking across her face.  

Ron grinned and laughed.  "There's a word I never thought would describe Hermione!" They headed to Defense Against the Dark Arts, smiling and laughing.  Heather was back in a good mood by the time they reached the classroom, mainly because all the fifth year Gryffindors came up to her in the halls to congratulate her on the excellent insults she'd paid Snape and Malfoy.

When they arrived in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Professor Bassett was waiting in the front of the classroom.  After they all took their seats, he smiled around at them.

"Ah, yes.  I remember all of you.  I saw you at Gryffindor table at the feast.  You'll have to help me with names for the first week or so, I have a mind like a sieve." A few people smiled politely, and the professor did as well.  Once again, however, Heather got the impression that the smile was fake – a mask to cover either a very unfriendly or else a very boring person.  

By the end of the class, Heather was sure Professor Bassett was the latter.  He'd spent the entire lesson having them take notes on how to fight the undead, which, as Dean pointed out later, could have been a very interesting topic if Bassett had had a personality.  He droned on and on, making even the most interesting things dreary.  For homework, he told them only to memorize their notes and to find out how to make Holy Water.

"Oh, this year's going to be REALLY interesting," Ron said sarcastically as the group headed towards the library.  "The ghoul in our attic is more fun than Bassett!  And all he does is bang pipes and rattle his chains!" Harry nodded in agreement, not noticing the look on Heathers face after Ron had mentioned the family ghoul.

"It wasn't that bad," she said after a pause.  Who was she kidding?  Heather hadn't thought it possible to be bored by such an interesting topic as vampires and zombies, but it had happened.  Coming out of the class, she felt a bit like a zombie herself.  "At least we learned a lot," she added.  Harry and Ron nodded, grudgingly.  They HAD learned some, but they'd almost died of boredom in the process.

"Of course we learned a lot – he copied that entire lecture out of our book!" Hermione burst out.  Her friends looked at her, astonished.

"Really?" Harry exclaimed.

"No way!" Heather said, "How do you know?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.  "Because I memorize all our set books off by heart every year." Heather's eyes widened.

"It's true," Ron confirmed, nodding ruefully, "she does."

Heather pushed her surprise at how much work Hermione put into school aside and thought about the problem at hand.  "But why would he do that?" she exclaimed.  "He should know all about Defense Against the Dark Arts!  That kinda comes in handy when you teach it," she pointed out. 

"I don't know why," Hermione said, shaking her head.  "But look at this," she pulled them out of the flow of traffic and opened her book bag, pulling out a large, black book.   Quickly thumbing through it, she scanned the pages.  "Aha!" she said suddenly, "Here it is," she held up the book so they could see it.

"The undead, by definition, are the dead who have risen again.  They do not breath or eat, or need any of the things we do to survive, but in most other ways are just like the living…" Heather trailed off.

"Sounds familiar," Harry said, frowning.  "You're right Hermione.  I wonder why Bassett would do that."  Hermione shoved her book back into her bag, thinking hard.

"Maybe he was nervous," she said, doubtfully.  "He didn't know what to say, so he just said the first thing that came to him."

Heather nodded.  "That makes sense.  He seemed pretty sure of himself, though.  Did you see the way he looked at us?  I saw him at the feast, and he didn't look too friendly then, either."

"I wish we had Lupin back," Ron said, sighing.

"Lupin?" Heather asked, curiously.

"He was our Defense teacher third year," Harry explained.  "The best we ever had.  But he was a werewolf, and the parents didn't want a werewolf in contact with their children, so he left."

Just then, another voice called out.  "Heather!"  The four students turned to see Professor McGonagall making her way towards them.  "Heather," she repeated, arriving in front of them.  "Where are you four off to?" she asked.

"We were just going to the library to look some stuff up," she replied.  It was sort of true – they had to look up that stuff about Holy Water, and some things for Potions.  She decided not to mention that she was also going to tell her friends about Peter Pettegrew.

"Well, that's very good you're starting to work hard right off," the professor said, smiling.  "Before you go, Heather, could I speak with you for a minute?"

"Sure," Heather answered, turning to the other three.  "Guys, I'll catch up, ok?"  They nodded, glancing at the professor nervously, and headed to the library.

Professor McGonagall led Heather into a deserted classroom before she said another word.  "So, how was your first day?" she asked, eagerly.

Heather started telling her all about how interesting she found the Adlebups then how she would love to Transfigure things and hoped to get better at that.  Then she frowned and told the professor all about Potions – how Snape had humiliated her, and how he'd taken points off of Gryffindor and given her a detention.  The professor's face darkened.

"I'll have to have a talk with him," she said.  "I doubt I'll be able to get rid of the detention, but perhaps the house points…  I'm sorry you had to deal with that, Heather.  And I'm sorry you have to have the detention, but no matter how unfair you and I, and even Dumbledore know it is, rules are rules and students always receive detention for talking back to teachers."

Heather felt awful.  Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore had been so nice to her, and then she went and mouthed off to Snape.

"I'm really sorry," she said aloud, "I know I shouldn't have said what I did, but-"

The professor interrupted her.  "Don't feel sorry.  It's just the rules.  Now, you'd better go catch up with your friends.  I'll see you on Wednesday."

Heather nodded gratefully.  It had been really nice of Professor McGonagall to check in on her, and what she'd said made Heather feel a lot better.  Following the professor out of the room, she waved good-bye and headed towards the library.

~*~

Hermione, Ron and Harry watched nervously as Professor McGonagall led Heather into a deserted classroom.  They exchanged glances and then hurried to the library.

"What do you think that was about?" Ron asked as they settled around a table.

"I don't know.  McGonagall didn't seem angry," Harry said.

Hermione nodded in agreement.  "She probably just wanted to see how Heather's first day was.  But have you noticed anything else – strange – about Heather?"

Ron and Harry both nodded.  "You too?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded.  "First off," she started, "She said she's been here for a week.  Why?  She should've come on the Hogwarts Express like the rest of us."

Harry shrugged.  "Maybe her parents had to go somewhere a week before school started and Dumbledore said she could stay here."  

Hermione considered, then nodded.  "That makes sense.  Ok, but then in Herbology, Professor Sprout asked me to help Heather with the procedure.  At first I thought that she didn't take Herbology at her old school, but then Professor McGonagall asked me to help her as well!  And I know Transfiguration is required in all schools of magic.  I think Herbology is, as well.  And why does Snape hate her so much?"

"And why didn't she know the answers to any of his questions?  I'll bet even Neville knows them," Ron pointed out.

"Right," Hermione agreed.

"Snape seems to hate her almost as much as he hates me," Harry mused, "Maybe she did something to him while she was here."

Hermione nodded.  "So all that leaves is-"

"Hello, Heather!" Ron almost yelled, hoping Heather didn't hear any of their conversation.

"Hey," Heather answered, sitting next to Hermione.  She looked around at their guilty faces.  "What's going on?" she asked, suspiciously.

"Nothing!" Hermione said.  Heather gave her a look and Hermione crumbled.  "Well, we were just wondering why Professor Sprout and Professor McGonagall told me to help you in class.  I mean you've taken all those classes before right?" Heather looked away.  "Right?"  Hermione urged.

"Well…not exactly," Heather confessed.  She looked around to make sure no one was within hearing distance.

"What?" Ron asked, shocked.  "Of course you have!  Those classes are required to all witches and wizards that attend school.  You've gone to school before, right?"

"Yeah, I have," Heather replied.  "Just – just not the kind you mean.  Listen.  This is what I wanted to meet with you about.  This is the thing about Peter Pettegrew." They all leaned towards her, eager to hear what she had to say.  Heather took a deep breath and went on in a low voice.  "Ok.  Let's start at the beginning.  My name is Heather Evans and I live in New York.  When I was one, my parents died in an accident and left my nanny as my legal guardian because we didn't have any other family.  Soon after that, my nanny went out for a walk with me at night and this robber chased us.  He attacked us and killed my nanny, leaving me in an orphanage.  They couldn't even find any record of my parents or my birth certificate or anything.

"So I went to the orphanage and before long I got adopted.  Pretty soon, though, that family returned me.  'We didn't click' they said.  Or something like that.  Time after time I'd get adopted, but something would always be wrong.  I just wasn't right with any of the families.  I didn't belong – I didn't know why, and neither did they, but there it was.

"After a while, I started causing the problems myself.  I'd get in trouble at school – I'd play pranks on the teachers and things like that.  But other stuff happened, too.  I guess it was all kind of on purpose – all this bad stuff seemed to happen when I was angry.  Once, my foster mother was telling me why I wasn't perfect, and her hair started on fire.  Another time, a vase exploded." She decided not to tell them about the snakes – Dumbledore had warned her not to.

Harry looked excited.  "That same sort of thing happened to me with the Dursleys!"

Heather nodded and continued.  "In fourteen years I've lived with ten different families – all Muggle.  So, until one week ago, I didn't even know that really wizards existed."

"But-but you're a witch!" Ron sputtered.  "Dumbledore wouldn't have let you come to Hogwarts otherwise!"

"Yeah, I am a witch – at least that's what everyone says.  The Sorting Hat said so, Dumbledore said so… but I didn't know that until last week.  Someone messed up and forgot to tell me about it – I've never been to a magical school before this," she gave her friends a moment to let this sink in.  They all looked staggered.  

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing.  Heather hadn't known she was a witch?  Sure he'd been surprised when he found out – he'd had no idea.  But witches and wizards were supposed to start school at the age of eleven!  How had she been missed?

"This must be a bit of a shock for you then," he said, as calmly as he could.

Heather nodded vehemently.  "Oh yeah.  But here's how I found out.  Last week, I was standing outside the house of family number ten in New York when I saw this guy coming towards me.  He looked like your average, middle aged, highly unattractive man, but he had the worst fashion sense I've ever seen."

Harry nodded, understanding.  "Witches and wizards who aren't Muggle born don't quite understand the way Muggles dress," he explained.

"Yeah, well, he was totally missing the idea.  I noticed he was watching me, and then I saw his hand."

"It was silver," Hermione breathed, eyes wide.

Heather nodded.  "Yep.  So anyway, I remembered that I had this – dream – with him in it and he'd been doing something bad, so I got up to run away.  I mean it was just instinct," Heather wasn't quite sure if she should tell her friends about her scar and migraines.  She was sure that wasn't normal – even in the wizarding world.  "Then he started chasing me and I looked back and he was pulling a stick out of his pocket.  I know now that it was a wand, and he shouted out 'Stupify!'  I think I fell, and next thing I knew I was in this forest and it was really dark.  I freaked out – I couldn't hear any traffic, and you can't find dense woods in the suburbs of Albany.  So I started walking and after a while I met up with-" she stopped.  She couldn't say she met up with a snake – there was that whole 'talking to snakes is bad' thing hanging over her head.  "- a little man.  A dwarf or something," she crossed her fingers under the table, praying that they had dwarfs here.  She'd gotten lucky apparently, because no one said anything.  She cleared her throat and went on.  "And he told me how to get out of the forest and that I had to stay with the people I found – Professor Dumbledore at Hogwarts.  He said they'd protect me from Voldemort." Hermione gasped and Ron paled. 

"What?" Heather asked, alarmed.

"You said You-Know-Who's name!" Ron exclaimed.

"Oh!  Right!  Sorry, I forgot you're not supposed to," Heather said, embarrassed.  "It's just that I never knew you couldn't, you know?"

"Say his name," Harry said firmly.  "I never say You-Know-Who either.  It just makes me more afraid of him.  Say whatever you want to." 

Heather nodded.  "Anyway, I got out of the woods and ended up here, where I met up with this giant man named Hagrid."

"Bet he wasn't happy to see you on the grounds after hours before school even started," Harry said.

"You know him?" Heather asked.

"He's been our friend since first year," Ron said.

"Well, we argued for a while and he finally took me to see Dumbledore, who listened to my story and told me that I should stay here.  He said I have lots of magical blood, and that he was surprised no one noticed until now.  And…that's about it," she finished and leaned back in her chair.

"It'll be our secret," Harry assured her after a moment of silence.

"I can't wait for you to see Quidditch!" Ron exclaimed, suddenly.  "It's the best sport ever – played on flying broomsticks…" he went on and on, explaining the rules of Quidditch, then the three of them told Heather about the Quidditch games that had been played while they were at school.  For over an hour they all talked and by the time they left the library that evening, all four of them felt as if they'd known each other for a lifetime.

~*~

The next morning at breakfast, hundreds of owls swooped into the Great Hall and dropped letters and packages in front of their owners.  Although Heather had almost gotten used to post arriving by owl in the week she'd been here, there had never been this many birds at one time before.  She gasped and dropped her fork in her teacup, which would've spilled if Harry hadn't grabbed it. 

"Amazing isn't it?"  Hermione asked, smiling at Heather's reaction.  She nodded mutely.  Suddenly, a barn owl swooped down and dropped a letter on Heather's plate before flying off again.  Caught between puzzlement and shock, she unfolded the note with shaking fingers.

_Miss Evans, Your detention will be held at eight o'clock in my classroom on the eighteenth of September.  Meet me there, and do not be late.  ~Professor Snape_

Heather groaned and showed her friends the note.  "I almost forgot."  

Ron looked up at the High Table to glare at Snape.  "That git!" he said, angrily.

            "Ron!" Hermione hissed.  But she seemed more upset about the detention than Ron's language.

            "Who's a git?" Fred Weasley asked, as he and George seated themselves across from the four fifth years.

            "Snape.  Who else?" Ron said, grumpily before turning away to talk to Harry about today's classes.  Heather showed the twins the note and they read it, frowning.

            "What did you do to get a detention already?  I think you might've broken our record!"  George exclaimed, voice full of admiration.

            Fred shook his head as he buttered his toast.  "No, in second year we had a detention on the first day for setting off Dungbombs at the feast."  The twins smiled at the memory.  "No one felt like eating after that, did they?"

            Heather grinned.  "I can just picture that," she said starting to laugh.  "Who caught you?"

            George smirked.  "Filch, the caretaker."  

            Heather rolled her eyes.  "Yeah, we've met.  God, I wish I'd been there to see that!  Did he yell at you in front of the whole school?"  

            Fred nodded, and Heather snorted.  The brothers looked back and forth between Hermione, who was glaring at them sternly, and Heather, who was still chuckling softly.  "Did we mention how NICE it is to meet you, Heather?" Fred asked, grinning broadly.

            Heather shrugged, grinning.  "I think maybe," she said, "but you can say it again!"

She thought for a moment and then went on.  "So what exactly is this Dungbomb thing?  Is it just like a Muggle stink bomb or something?  Because I used to swear by those things."

Fred and George grinned wider and their eyes sparkled.  "I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship," George said.  Hermione sniffed haughtily and turned away as Heather and the twins got into a detailed discussion about magical pranks verses the Muggle kind.

"Are you Muggle born or something?" Fred gasped, regaining his breath from the fit of laughter he'd just been in.  Heather had just told them about the Whoopie cushion she had put on a teacher's chair once.  It had taken a while for her to explain just how it worked, but after seeing the reaction she got from the twins, it was well worth it.  Practically the whole Hall was watching them; Fred and George had been really loud.

"Yeah, I am," she said.  She couldn't tell them the truth, she knew, but she'd get as close to it as possible.  "Witches and wizards aren't as common in the States as they are here," she invented.  "Everything's much more Muggle focused."

The boys nodded, then George glanced at his watch.  "Well, children, we'd better get going.  First class is in a few minutes.  See you later, Heather!" They got up and left, followed by Hermione (who still looked rather severe), Ron, Harry and Heather. 

Heather quickly decided that she liked Tuesdays a lot better than Mondays.  First they went to Charms, which Heather enjoyed immensely.  Tiny Professor Flitwick was not only a good teacher, but was also 'just about the cutest little wizard you could ever hope to see', as Heather told a laughing Ron.  They spent the class studying the Expectrum Charm, which showed the caster what was expected of them.

"Very useful in classes – especially when you haven't been paying attention," Flitwick squeaked, shooting a meaningful glance at Seamus Finnigan, who was dozing off.  After receiving the homework, they headed out of the school to Care of Magical Creatures.  

"I can't wait to see Hagrid!" Harry exclaimed as the group walked across the lawn.  "I feel bad we didn't go visit him yesterday." They probably should have, but everything had just been so hectic.

Hermione shrugged.  "He'll understand we were busy," she said.

"What's up, Heather?" Harry asked, seeing that Heather looked less than comfortable.  

"I don't think Hagrid likes me very much," she said, uncertainly.

"Don't be ridiculous," Harry said.  "Hagrid likes everyone – except for the Slytherins.  He'll love you.  You've only met him once." Heather nodded, and she seemed to feel a little better.  The only thing Harry was worried about was that this class was with the Slytherins, and he was sure that Malfoy would've pulled himself together enough by now to be a problem to Heather.

They arrived at Hagrid's cabin about five minutes before the rest of the class.  

"Hello Hagrid!" Harry called cheerfully.

"Alrigh' you three?" He called back, straightening up.  He'd been leaning over a huge tank filled with water and what seemed to be small fish.  "Who's tha' with yeh?" he called, heading towards them.  He stopped suddenly as he recognized Heather as the girl who'd come knocking on his door last week.  Harry saw Heather frown a little, but she kept walking beside him.

"Hagrid, this is Heather Evans.  She's a new student here from America," Hermione said as if Hagrid and Heather weren't glaring at each other.  "Heather, this is Professor Hagrid, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher," Hermione went on.  Harry noticed Hagrid puff out his chest at the name 'Professor Hagrid'.  

"Well, Heather, it's nice ter meet yeh," Hagrid said finally.  Heather smiled gratefully and shook the hand he offered to her.

"It's nice to meet you too, Professor," she replied.  "Everyone's told me great things about your class.  I'm really looking forward to it." This seemed to end any reservations Hagrid had about the red haired girl in front of him, and he grinned broadly.

"Well, I try ter make my lessons interestin'," Hagrid said, blushing.  The other students were starting to arrive now, and were looking curiously at the tank behind Hagrid.  

"These are Bish," he announced to everyone.  They crowded around to get a better look.  Swimming inside the tank were about two dozen small, winged fish.  Their scaled bodies were shining in all sorts of colors – pink, blue, green, red, turquoise…  Their wings were covered in long, silver scales that looked quite a bit like feathers.  At this point all the students were there.  Harry noticed the Slytherins were smirking at Heather, who ignored them.  He shared an uncertain glance with Ron, who also looked worried.

They had a very interesting class about the Bish, which could be found off the coasts of South America, Africa, and Australia.  The Slytherins didn't seem to be paying attention at all; they spent the entire class whispering loudly to each other about Hemel Juice and sniggering not very subtly.  Heather continued to ignore them, just as the Slytherins ignored the glares the Gryffindors were shooting in their direction.  Despite the Slytherins' rudeness, Harry and his friends managed to have a very good time in class and, when it was over, moved up to the castle for lunch.  Hagrid had offered to let them stay with him for the meal, but Harry had hurriedly declined the invitation, explaining later to Heather that Hagrid's cooking wasn't the best.  

During lunch, Hermione told Heather about all the Charms they'd studied over the years and promised to show her how they worked that weekend.  Harry listened to them chatting away and smiled to himself.  Both girls seemed to be enjoying themselves, and so was he.  Heather was very fun to be around, and he was looking forward to hearing what she thought of Professor Trelawney and Divination class, which was next period.  Hermione had hated it, but maybe Heather would find it more interesting.  He hoped not – he was sure Heather would have some very funny things to say about Trelawney if she didn't like her.  

Looking down the table, Harry saw Fred and George talking animatedly to their friend, Lee Jordan.  From their hand gestures and the grins on their faces, Harry guessed they were telling Lee one of the stories Heather had told them that morning.  As they finished, all three boys started laughing, and Harry chuckled to himself.  Everyone certainly liked Heather.  Everyone except Malfoy, of course.  Harry looked over at the Slytherin table where a group of fifth years were huddling together and whispering, glancing at Heather every so often.  Leaning across Ron, Harry tapped Heather on the shoulder.

"What's up?" she asked, turning to look at him.

"Look at the Slytherins," he said, jerking his head towards Malfoy and his friends.  Heather glanced over and frowned.

"I'll have to be careful," she said decisively, then glanced at Harry.  "Thanks for the heads up.  How do you deal with them?"

He shrugged.  "We don't, really."

"I punched Malfoy on the train on the way here," Ron said brightly.  "And Hermione slapped him once."

Heather looked over at Hermione, who suddenly seemed fascinated with her teacup.  "Hermione!" Heather said, admiration in her voice.  "You go, girl!  I am very impressed!"  Hermione blushed and smiled, pleased. 

Ron didn't bother to hide his sniggering.  "That was great.  Ah, the good old days," he sighed, then looked at his watch.  "Time for Divination!"  They stood and walked out of the Great Hall together.  Hermione waved goodbye, heading off to Arithmancy class.  Heather, Ron, and Harry started up the long staircase to the Divination Tower, joking and laughing.

"No way!" Heather cried gleefully.  "You threw a firecracker into Goyle's cauldron in Potions?  What happened?"

"Well, as it was Swelling Potion…"

"And the firecracker shot it all over the Slytherins – particularly Goyle, Crabbe, and Malfoy…" They trailed off suggestively and all three of them started laughing again.

"This is my kinda place," Heather decided.  "Except for all these stairs!  God, are we EVER going to get there?" she complained.

"It takes a while," Ron admitted, starting to pant.  "We've only got about five more flights."

Panting and sweating, they finally reached the eighth floor landing.  Stopping to catch her breath, Heather glanced around at the arriving students.

"Where's the door?" she asked finally.

Dean Thomas grinned and pointed up.  Following his finger, Heather looked up at the ceiling and saw a polished trapdoor with a brass plaque that read 'Sybill Trelawney, Divination Teacher'.

"She doesn't open it until it's exactly time for class to start," Lavender explained, eyes aglow.  "Oh, Heather, you'll just LOVE Professor Trelawney – she's brilliant!  She knows everything that's going to happen months before it does."

Parvati nodded, excitedly.  "We'll introduce you when we go up, I'm sure she'll just love you!  Third year, she said that around Easter one of our number would leave forever, and right before the holiday, Hermione left class!"  

Both Lavender and Parvati looked like they were going to burst with excitement, and Heather had a hard time keeping a straight face.  Harry and Ron were both laughing quietly behind her, which wasn't helping.

"Wow, she sounds really great," Heather said, corners of her mouth twitching.  Ron snorted loudly and Lavender glared at him.  At that moment the trap door above their heads swung open and a stepladder slid down to the floor.  Parvati squealed and Lavender grabbed Heather's arm, pulling her up the stairs.  

Heather's first impression of the Divination classroom was a cave-like atmosphere – it was pretty dark, and the air was heavy with perfume that made her nose itch.  It was boiling hot; the windows were all closed and a fire was going in the fireplace.  The room was filled with puffy armchairs and little tables surrounded what appeared to be giant beanbags.  Heather looked around doubtfully.  This was a classroom?  Before she could ask any questions, Lavender was dragging her across the room.  

"I'm sure Professor Trelawney's around here somewhere," she muttered, Parvati hot on her heels.  Just then, something in the shadows moved, and Lavender stopped suddenly, causing Heather to collide with her back.  Heather looked up and saw a woman stepping towards her.  At first she wasn't quite sure this person was a woman at all – she looked more like a very big bug.  She was very skinny and tall, and her long body was wrapped in gauzy green material.  She had a long neck and a small head, made to look smaller because her hair was pulled tightly into a bun, much like Professor McGonagall's.  The woman wore huge, thick glasses that magnified her eyes several times and made them blurry around the edges.  Her hands and neck glittered with dozens of necklaces and rings.  

Heather noticed that Lavender and Parvati had both caught their breath and were staring at the Professor in wide-eyed wonder.  Professor Trelawney gave the class a dreamy smile.

"Hello, my dears," she said, voice misty.  "How good it is to see you in the physical world again."  Heather decided she'd better let Lavender or Parvati introduce her; she was suddenly overcome by the urge to laugh.  This woman wasn't serious, was she?  She looked like a dragonfly!

"Professor Trelawney, this is Heather Evans.  She's a new student from America.  But of course you knew that," Parvati said, doe eyed.  

The Professor gave the three girls another misty smile.  "I did indeed know," she informed the class.  "But it was good of you to introduce us, Parvati, thank you."  Parvati glowed.  "It's a pleasure to meet you Heather.  I wish you good luck in this class."  With that, she glided away from them to the front of the room.  Lavender and Parvati followed, Lavender eyeing her friend enviously.  They seemed to suddenly realize that Heather wasn't following them, and turned around curiously.

"Coming, Heather?  We can sit up at the front of the class," Lavender said.

"Uh, no thanks – I promised Ron and Harry I'd sit with them."  Heather said quickly, making her voice sound apologetic.

Parvati nodded.  "That's okay.  Good luck!"  Heather smiled back and nodded, hurrying to sit next to Ron and Harry who were reserving a chair for her near the back of the room.  

Ron grinned wolfishly.  "Quite the character isn't she?" he whispered.  Heather hardly had time to grin and nod before Professor Trelawney started speaking in her soft, dreamy voice.  

"This term we will be studying tarot card reading.  Dean, would you please give everyone a deck of cards?  You'll find them in the box by your feet.  Thank you.  Tarot reading is very difficult, and impossible to perform if you don't have a strong Inner Eye," she went on, addressing the entire class.  Harry noticed that Heather suddenly looked very nervous.  

"Don't worry," he whispered to her.  "I don't think SHE has an Inner Eye – it's nearly impossible to fail this class, you just need a good imagination.  Ron and I always fake the exams." Heather smiled and nodded gratefully, her expression lightened.

"—must channel your power into your deck.  That way, the cards cannot steer you wrong," the professor was saying.  "Inside each box is a sheet that tells you what each card means.  Be careful you are interpreting the cards correctly, for there are often several meanings to each card."

Professor Trelawney droned on, and Harry recognized the sleepy stupor that was coming over him as a result of the heavy perfume in the air.  Glancing at Ron, he saw his friend looked just as bored as he felt.  Parvati and Lavender were staring at Professor Trelawney in wonder.  Dean and Seamus were passing notes to each other, while Neville looked very nervous.  Looking at Heather, he saw that she was starting to look nervous again, as well.  No, nervous wasn't the right word – distracted, maybe?  But she also looked worried about something…what was wrong?  She wrinkled her nose and leaned back a little, her eyes starting to close.  Suddenly Harry realized – she was trying not to sneeze.  The perfume was getting to her as well, and she obviously realized that a sneeze right now would NOT go unnoticed.  Without warning, she lurched forward, hands over her mouth.

"HEH-CHOO!" she almost screamed.  Professor Trelawney stopped speaking and looked up, surprised.  Parvati and Lavender spun around looking shocked, and Dean dropped his note on the floor.

"Sorry," Heather breathed softly, wincing.  Ron started sniggering uncontrollably, and Harry had to bite his lips to keep from joining in.  Professor Trelawney gave Heather one last stern look and went back to her lecture, which seemed to be about over.  Harry saw Seamus wink at Heather, who pulled her face into an exaggerated look of embarrassment, making Seamus grin.

"WHAT is with this perfume?" Heather hissed.  Harry snorted and quickly covered his mouth to keep from laughing.  He had a feeling that if he started, he wouldn't be able to stop.

"That's all the wisdom I can share with you.  The next steps must be your own.  Good luck, my dears," Professor Trelawney finished at last.  Heather eagerly reached forward and grabbed her card deck.  Ron, still laughing, did the same and Harry followed suit.  

"I think I'll definitely like this class," Heather stated, looking over her_ Key to the Cards_ sheet.  Harry grinned and nodded in agreement.  He was going to like this class, too.

Professor Trelawney wasted no time telling Harry he had a very grim future – he got the Death card and several others of unfriendly nature.  Heather was apparently going to come across great riches very soon, and Ron was going to fall in love.

"Well, maybe this year she'll get lucky and I really WILL die," Harry told Ron and Heather.  "She's been rather disappointed the past two years and I feel I owe it to her."

"Well, I'm gonna get rich, so rest assured you'll have a very nice funeral," Heather said, seriously.  She considered for a moment then grinned.  "Maybe Ron's LOVER will have it in for you," she suggested, trying to keep a straight face and failing miserably.  Harry snorted and Ron turned red.

"Stop it, would you?" he demanded crossly.  Heather started laughing again, and Harry had a hard time not doing the same.  Ron glared and turned away.

"Oh, Ron, come on.  That card doesn't necessarily mean you'll fall in love!  Look – the key also says you'll form a new friendship.  It could be that!"

"Right," Harry agreed, nodding.  "And that's already come true – we've just met Heather," he pointed out.  Ron nodded and turned back to them.

"Or, you could have a secret romance that you're not telling anyone about," Harry said shrugging.  Heather laughed and Ron narrowed his eyes.  All in all it was a very enjoyable lesson, and the three friends descended the long staircase laughing and joking with each other.  

They met up with Hermione on the way to History of Magic, which Ron warned Heather was extremely boring.  

Heather shrugged.  "How can it be boring?  History of _MAGIC_?"

"That's what I thought when I came here first year," Harry said.  "Trust me, you'll get over the excitement pretty fast.  Think of Professor Bassett's class.  Now imagine it ten times worse."

            Heather winced.  "Seriously?"  
            "Seriously," her friends all said in unison.  Heather groaned, and they walked into the classroom.  The ghost of Professor Binns was waiting for them, and called attendance after they all took their seats.  He then launched into a very long lecture on the Goblin Rebellion – his favorite topic.

            "No one has the heart to tell him we've already covered the Goblin Rebellion – four times," Ron whispered.

Before long, Heather realized that Harry had been right – the excitement of goblins rebelling wore off pretty quickly, and before long she was doodling pictures on her notebook.  Glancing at her watch for the hundredth time, she saw that class was finally nearly over.

Looking around, she saw that everyone else was just as bored as she was.  Dean and Seamus were slouching in their chairs, eyes almost closed.  They seemed to have given up on passing notes and Heather was worried for a moment they were dead.  Lavender had her head resting on her arms and seemed to be asleep, Parvati was drawing a picture of a unicorn, Hermione was doing what looked like homework – it had a lot of complicated number columns and Heather assumed it was for Arithmancy.  Ron was gazing out the window longingly and Neville was chewing a fingernail.  And Harry – Harry was staring right at her.  When he saw her looking at him, he smiled, looking embarrassed, and glanced away.  Heather frowned curiously.  He was giving her that same searching look he'd given her on the night of the Sorting.  She tried to catch his eye – he was too far away to whisper to.  Sighing, she decided she'd talk to him about it later and sunk back into a stupor of boredom, where she quickly forgot Harry had been looking at her at all.

            Harry glanced away from Heather quickly.  He'd hardly noticed the way he'd been staring at her, but he couldn't help it.  She looked so familiar to him!  He realized suddenly that the reason he'd liked her immediately could've been the familiarity he felt towards her – whoever she looked like was a close friend of his.  But who did she look like?  No one from the Dursley's; he hadn't had any friends there.  So someone from Hogwarts?  No – he'd have known who they were.  Who did Heather look like?

            "The Goblin Rebellion was a turning point in magical history.  It brought about many changes not only for…" Professor Binns droned on and on like a fly buzzing about the room.  Harry found it increasingly hard to think while the ghost was talking, and before long, he'd given up on trying to figure out who Heather looked like.

~*~

            For Heather, the next few weeks went by in a blur of classes, meals, private lessons from Hermione, and jokes with her friends.  Heather was sure she'd never been so happy in her life.  Despite Potions being awful, and Defense Against the Dark Arts growing increasingly boring, things were definitely going well for her.  Their first assignments were handed back to them and Heather got full marks on all of it.

            "I couldn't have done it without you, Hermione," Heather told her friend, who blushed, flattered.  Heather's detention with Snape came all too soon for her, and that night at 7:50, she climbed through the portrait hole alone.  

            "Good luck!" Hermione called after her.

            "Punch him if he says anything rude!" Ron said.  Heather smiled weakly and walked towards the dungeons.  She got there exactly on time, much to Snape's annoyance.  He quickly recovered his sneer and showed her what her chore would be – she had to clean out all the fifth year's cauldrons.  

Suddenly Heather felt queasy.  So this was why he'd told them they didn't have to clean their cauldrons yesterday in class.  Heather spent the next few hours scrubbing cauldron after cauldron – each dirtier than the last.  Snape watched over her, sneering and telling her every so often that she'd missed a spot.  Around eleven o'clock, she finally finished – all of the nearly forty iron pots sparkling.  Aching all over and Snape's snide remarks still ringing in her ears, Heather made her way back to Gryffindor Tower.  She was starting up a staircase when she heard voices up ahead and quickly ducked behind a suit of armor, momentarily forgetting she had permission to be out of bed.

            "Come on, we have to go back!" One voice hissed urgently.

            "Calm down, Fred – no one's up now!" The other retorted.

            Fred and George?  What were they doing up?  That was a stupid question.  They were doing something wrong, that was for sure.  Suddenly, Heather had an idea.

            "Let me see!" Fred demanded in a whisper.

            "WHAT are you two doing out of bed?" a sharp, British voice demanded.  Fred and George gasped and jumped about a mile.

            "Professor!" George squeaked.

            "Professor, we were just-" Fred stopped suddenly as he heard giggling.  He knew that laugh anywhere.  "Heather!" he hissed angrily.  "Don't DO that!"  Heather stepped into a patch of moonlight, still laughing.

            "Blimey!" George exclaimed, hand on his heart.  "Are you trying to kill us?  I thought you were McGonagall!" Fred was leaning against the wall, eyes closed and face pale.

            Heather grinned, looking only slightly apologetic.  "Seriously, though – what ARE you two doing?  Something naughty?" she asked, in a mock-stern voice.  

            Fred got over his fear enough to grin at her.  "Not us," he said, innocently.  He reached out and grabbed Heather's hand, pulling her into a deserted classroom, George right behind them.  They closed the door quietly and then turned to her.

            "Look what we got!" George said proudly, holding up a thin notebook.  In gold lettering the title read _Property of Professor Bassett_.  

            "Bassett's grade book?" Heather breathed, eyes twinkling.  The twins nodded proudly.

            "We were a bit too busy to study for a test of his, and we failed rather miserably," Fred confessed.

            "But not for long!" George added, pulling a pencil out of his pocket.

            Heather watched as he laid the book on a desk and reached to open it.  "Wait!" she cried out suddenly.  Both boys jumped again and looked up at her.  "Basset probably has loads of spells on that book!" Heather explained.  "If you read it, you might grow horns or something – and then he'd KNOW you took it!  I really doubt Professor Dumbledore would think it's as funny as we do."

            Fred nodded proudly.  "We're way ahead of you, sweet heart," he said, grinning.  "We've already scanned it very thoroughly.  He did have a few protection spells, but they were simple – we broke them all."

            Heather raised her eyebrows.  "You know, if you applied yourself in class as much as you do to making trouble, you'd both be tied for Head Boy right now," she informed them.

            George made a face.  "That is precisely why we don't apply ourselves," he retorted.  He set to work changing the grades in the notebook, while Fred went and listened at the door.  Suddenly, he turned to them, eyes wide.

            "Someone's coming!" he hissed urgently.  All three of them ran across the classroom and ducked behind the teacher's desk.  They heard footsteps getting louder and louder as someone came towards their room.  The person paused near the door, and Heather held her breath.  Then the footsteps carried their owner away in some other direction.  Heather sighed in relief and crawled out from under the desk.  She hurried to the door and looked out quickly to see who'd just been by.  Squinting down the dark hallway, she recognized the tall figure and the thinning brown hair – Professor Bassett.  Fred and George hauled her back into the room and shut the door, their faces a mix of admiration and horror.

            "They could've seen you!" Fred hissed.

            "Who was it?  Could you tell?" George asked eagerly.

            Heather nodded.  "Professor Bassett.  I'm following him," she decided, reaching for the door.

            Fred and George exchanged surprised glances.  "I like this girl!" Fred said, grinning, as they followed her out of the room.  

            The three of them shadowed Professor Bassett as quietly as they could past the Great Hall, through a tapestry, and through a few secret passages.  Miraculously, Bassett didn't notice them once.  Fred and George had obviously done things like this before; they found hiding places where Heather wouldn't have, and they never had a problem finding Bassett's path - no matter how far ahead of them he got.  

            Finally, Heather's heart hammering in her chest, they arrived in the kitchen.  The three students stepped to the right and quickly hid inside a pantry, packed in against bags of flour.  Peering through the slats in the door, they saw Professor Bassett step between the sleeping forms of house elves and walk to the huge fireplace, which had a tall stool in front of it.  The professor whispered something and a light at the end of his wand glowed suddenly.  The light illuminated a solitary house elf sitting up on the stool, sobbing and moaning.  A large bottle was clutched in its hand, and Heather guessed that the elf had been drinking heavily.  The sobbing elf looked up at Professor Bassett, who seemed to be talking to it.  Straining her ears, Heather could hear bits of conversation.

            "…you been?  I heard…haven't been happy lately.  Anything…tell me…?"  That was the professor.  A high, whimpering voice answered him.

            "…very bad…Master needs Winky!  Winky very bad…Master!" Came the reply.  The elf's voice rose and fell with its sobs and Heather couldn't hear every word.

            "Someone been…want to take…sample…drugs…make you feel better.  Dobby's been acting…might need drugs…anyone strange…?"

            Winky stared up at him tearful, eyes wide.  "Why…Winky never…Winky promises…Dobby very bad…Masters…WINKY'S MASTER NEEDS HER!!!" The elf howled suddenly.  George jumped and Heather gasped loudly.  Luckily, Professor Bassett was too busy talking angrily to Winky to notice them.

            "…very important…I am…master now…drugs…going to give you…drug, Winky…"  Professor Bassett was definitely NOT happy with the elf, who – Heather assumed – was Winky.  He pulled out a small phial filled with an orangey liquid and handed it to Winky, whispering harshly to her.  She finally took a small sip, then hiccupped and returned it to him.  Bassett then started talking again, this time loud enough for Heather to hear every word.

            "Winky, I'm going to leave this here, alright?  If you start to feel strange again, have one of the elves give it to you just like I did, all right?  And if the other elves act strangely, you can give it to them, too, understand?  Okay, Winky?"  The professor explained all this slowly and calmly, like he was talking to a very small, very stupid child.  Winky hiccupped again and nodded a bit.  The professor seemed satisfied and left the kitchen quickly, leaving the phial on the counter.

            Inside the pantry, Fred, George, and Heather looked at each other, horrified.  

            "What did he give her?" Fred hissed.

            Heather shook her head.  "I don't know.  But this is more trouble than I bargained for."

            "Should we take it?  Give it to someone…?" George asked doubtfully.  

            Heather shook her head.  "I don't think so.  I mean, first off we're not supposed to be here in the first place.  We'd get in so much trouble!  Second, whatever Bassett's up to doesn't look good.  He seems to have Winky under his thumb – she's terrified of him, plus she's probably addicted to whatever he was giving her.  If we go out there and take it, she'll tell Bassett, and then it'll be our word against his.  Dumbledore hardly knows me, and you two don't exactly have a clean record.  Who's he gonna believe?"

            Fred and George considered and then nodded.  "I'm convinced," George stated.

            Fred thought hard.  "We can't just leave it.  Bassett could be doing something dangerous.  He could be giving them anything – a poison they'll pass on to the food….  Heather, you're right – Dumbledore'll never believe us.  We have to find someone else – a friend, who Dumbledore will believe…"

            "Someone who cares about elves…" George added, looking at his twin.

            "Hermione," Fred finished.

            "Hermione," George agreed.

            "So you guys are leaning towards Hermione," Heather summed up.

            "She's your friend, Heather – even if she wouldn't believe us, she'd believe you.  AND she's a Prefect – Dumbledore will trust her.  AND last year she had this thing – something about getting house elves rights…  I didn't really pay attention at the time, but she'll be easy to convince," Fred said reasonably.  George and Heather nodded in agreement.

            "We should tell her tomorrow.  Along with Ron and Harry," Heather decided.

~*~

            "He did WHAT?"  Hermione hissed, horrified.

            Heather, George, and Fred nodded grimly.  The group was huddled together in a corner of the Gryffindor common room after school the next day.  Heather and the twins had just told the others what they'd seen the night before.

Harry shook his head, slowly.  "Never would've guessed," he said, quietly.

Ron was staring into space.  "You're sure it couldn't have been something to HELP Winky?" he asked, hesitantly.  "I mean – perhaps it was because she's been feeling so down lately…" he trailed off, hopefully.  He was clearly still hoping this would be a quiet year.  It didn't look good.

"I think we've ruled that out, Ron," George told his younger brother.

"But there's something I don't understand," Hermione said, looking suddenly suspicious.  "What were you two doing out of bed?  Heather was at Snape's detention, but you two didn't have permission – did you?" she finished, accusingly.  

Fred and George shrugged, waving her concerns aside.  

"I don't think that's what we really have to worry about now, Hermione," Harry reminded his friend.  She blinked, and then nodded in agreement, leaning back into her chair.

"What do we do?" Ron asked no one in particular.  "Go to Dumbledore?  It's still our word against Bassett's – even if Hermione is on our side."

"I think we should figure out what Bassett's been giving the elves," Heather said, decisively.  She thought for a minute then seemed to come to a disturbing realization.  "We've got no proof," she declared, hopelessly.  "Ron's right – even with Hermione, we've got nothing.  And even if Dumbledore believes us, he can't do anything to Bassett without proof.  That's what we need to do."

Harry nodded in agreement.  "We should each take a job."  He considered for a moment.  "Fred and George could sneak down to the kitchens to get some food – the house elves will be distracted enough for someone else to grab the phial-"

"Assuming it's still on the counter," Hermione pointed out, frowning.

"Right," Harry agreed, "We'll have to count on it.  That person can take the phial and leave with out anyone noticing.  Hermione – you know about potions and things better than anyone else – try and find out what it is.  Whoever's left can try and get information from Bassett."

"Sounds good to me," George said.  The others nodded in agreement.

"We should do it tonight, before the elves get rid of the – whatever it is," Ron decided.

"Harry, you'd better be the one to come with us to the kitchens," Fred added, "The elves all love you – they might not get too angry if they see you stealing their drugs."

Heather nodded slowly.  "I guess that leaves you and me, Ron.  We'll have to be careful with Bassett – make sure he doesn't guess what we're up to."  

~*~

At 7:30 that night, Heather, Harry, Ron, and the twins left through the portrait hole leading out of Gryffindor common room, Hermione whispering 'do be careful' and 'good luck' until the portrait swung closed behind them all.  

"Good luck!"  Harry whispered to Ron and Heather as the group split and headed in different directions.

"So what exactly are we going to say to Bassett?" Ron asked worriedly.  

Heather shrugged.  "We could just pretend to be curious about the history of house elves.  You know, where they came from, when they started serving wizards…stuff like that.  Maybe he'll get nervous and let something slip.  Or we could just tell him we were arguing about whether slavery is ok…" she trailed off.

Ron nodded, looking queasy.  "D'you think he's in the Teacher's Lounge?"  

Heather shrugged.  "Worth a shot," They headed down the hall towards the room.

Harry and the twins reached the kitchens at last and were immediately surrounded by elves beaming up at them.  

"What can we do for you today, sirs?"

"Anything you want?  Anything at all?"

"Er… yeah," Fred said shooting a meaningful look at Harry, who started to move away from the mob.  "We'll have some…er…bread.  Fresh baked, please.  With cinnamon."

"Made by hand please," George added hastily as he saw an elf raise it's hand to magic them up a loaf.

The elves seemed delighted by the request and set to work making the dough.  Harry looked around the kitchen counters – nothing.  Glancing around to make sure no one noticed, he slipped off to get a closer look around.  Harry searched the kitchen several times before he found anything.  Ducking behind the table as an elf glanced in his direction, Harry caught sight of a puddle of liquid on the counter.  Straightening up, he took a closer look.  A small puddle of yellowish liquid was slowly dripping off the edge of the counter onto the floor.  Taking a quick glance around, Harry stuck a glass phial under the drip and collected a few drops of liquid before hurrying off to join a worried looking Fred and George.  

"Did you get it?" George hissed nervously. 

Harry nodded and the twins let out sighs of relief.

"Here you are, Masters – fresh baked cinnamon bread.  Made by hand – just as you require!" An elf piped up, putting the loaf into Fred's hands.  "Do you need anything else, Masters?  We're always happy to serve!"  

Something seemed familiar about that voice…

"Dobby?!" Harry exclaimed, getting a closer look at the elf.

"Master Potter!" Dobby cried brightly.  "How are you, sir?"

"I'm alright," Harry said uncomfortably.  "What about you?  You seem… different."

"Different, Master Potter?  Oh, no, sir!  Nothing could be further from the truth, sir!  Dobby is just like any other house elf!  Dobby has finally seen reason – house elves were made to serve their Masters, not be paid, sir!  Dobby is very ashamed for acting the way he did – it was wrong to try to be free," Dobby said in his squeaky voice.  

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but Fred poked him in the ribs.

"It's getting late," he hissed.  Harry nodded and the three boys thanked the house elves and left.

Ron and Heather finally reached the Teacher's Lounge and rapped on the door.  They waited for a moment but there was no answer.  Heather opened the door a fraction and peered into the room.

"I think he left his brief case in there!" Heather whispered, excited.

"What are we waiting for?" Ron asked, urging her forward.  

The pair crept quietly into the room and was almost to the briefcase when they heard approaching footsteps coming towards the door.  There was only one way out of the room and it was blocked by whoever was coming their way.  Heather turned to Ron, panic on her face. 

"In here!" he hissed, shoving her into a wardrobe at the back of the room.  The door had barely closed on them when the door of the room opened and someone walked in.  Pushing the wardrobe door open a crack, Heather and Ron could see Professor Bassett pick up his briefcase and sit down.  

Ron quietly pulled the wardrobe door closed, but Heather caught a glimpse of his pale face before they were encased in darkness.  Through the wardrobe, they heard the sound of the door opening again.

"Thank you for meeting with me so late, Severus," It was Professor Basset, talking to Snape.

"Of course, Jonathan," replied Snape's oily voice.  His tone was cold and disinterested.  He didn't seem to like Professor Bassett very much, but he didn't hate him; not like he hated Heather.  "You said it was a matter of utmost importance we needed to discuss, Jonathan.  What's happened that's so urgent?"

"I need to speak with you in private," Bassett declared, sounding nervous.

"We ARE in private," Snape drawled, a sneer in his voice.

"This isn't safe enough," Bassett insisted, "We need to talk somewhere no one could walk in on us.  If anyone hears what I have to say, they'll learn my secret – my cover will be blown.  I'm involved in something very important, very delicate.  If anyone discovers it….  Could we possibly talk in your classroom, Severus?"  He said this all very quietly, his voice trembling.  There was a long pause and the tension in the wardrobe was so high, Heather thought she would scream.  Just when she thought she couldn't take it anymore, Snape spoke up.

"Very well.  This had better not be a waste of my time," Heather and Ron heard the two teachers get up and leave.  They waited for their footsteps to fade away before bursting out of the wardrobe and dashing out of the Teacher's Lounge.  They ran all the way back to Gryffindor Common Room without looking back.  When they finally arrived, faces flushed and gasping for air, they found Fred, George, Hermione and Harry sitting together in a corner, talking quietly.  

"What happened to you?" Fred asked when they got near.  Ron and Heather collapsed into chairs, quickly telling their friends everything they'd overheard in the wardrobe.

"Then Snape's involved as well!" Harry said, horror in his voice.

"That doesn't surprise you, does it?" George asked, eyebrows raised.  "I wouldn't be surprised if Snape's the one brewing the potion for the elves!"

Hermione shook her head.  "I don't think Snape's involved yet.  No, listen – I know he's awful, but he's never betrayed Dumbledore yet.  We always figure it to be him and it never is!"

"But he's not really betraying Dumbledore, here, is he?" Ron pointed out, "If he's just doing something to the house elves…"

Hermione didn't look convinced.

            "Besides," Ron went on, "with You-Know-Who back and gaining power, maybe he's decided to go back to his side."

            Everyone looked at each other, horrified at the very idea of Snape becoming a Death Eater again.

            "Snape was a supporter of Voldemort?" Heather gasped, not noticing her friends cringe at the name.

            Harry nodded.  "He came over to our side before Voldemort… killed my family.  He worked as a spy for a while – supposedly helped our side a lot.  And now, if he's doing the same thing for Voldemort…"

            "This is bad," Heather whispered, thunderstruck.

            "I wish it were just bad," Harry agreed.

            "We should go to Dumbledore," George announced, "Tell him what we know, what we saw-"

            "He won't believe us," Hermione said, miserably, "He trusts Snape – he'd never believe us!"

            "We've only got one chance," Heather said, decisively.  "Did you guys get the potion?"  Harry nodded.  "Good.  Hermione, how long before you'll know what it is?"

            "I don't know.  I need to research the spell a bit, and then it'll take me a few weeks to prepare the supplies… maybe a month or two?" Hermione answered, nervously.

            "Well, there's not much else we can do except watch Bassett, whatever chance we get.  If anyone's ever down in the kitchens, make sure nothing odd is going on…" Harry trailed off, thinking.  The kitchens.  Something had been odd down there tonight.  In the excitement he'd started to forget, but now… Dobby.  He'd been acting like a slave – he acted like he LOVED serving others.  Dobby was the only house elf Harry had ever met who wanted freedom and worked for equal rights.  Harry had never thought he'd see Dobby acting like that.  He mentioned it to his friends.

            "All house elves act like that, Harry," Fred insisted, "They like what they do!"  

            Hermione scowled and opened her mouth to argue, but Harry beat her to it.

            "But you don't know Dobby.  He was free and he was HAPPY to be free.  He used to belong to the Malfoys and they were dreadful to him!  When he got a job from Dumbledore, he got paid and he loved it.  I've never seen him like that."

            "Maybe the potion had something to do with it," Heather suggested.  

            Harry nodded.  "We'll see."

~*~

            Harry didn't have much time to worry about Bassett, the potion, Snape, or Dobby over the next few weeks – he was too busy with Quidditch practice.  

They played their first game against Hufflepuff and won, 170 to 10.  Angelina had been making them all practice hard and it showed.  Their new Keeper – fourth year Ryan Finlay was good, but he didn't have to do much work – Harry caught the Snitch in under 20 minutes.  Although they missed Oliver, everyone agreed that Angelina was a great captain.  Harry was enjoying Quidditch more than ever – and it took his mind off the problems he and his friends had.  

Anyway, things seemed to be going pretty smoothly – nothing strange had happened and Snape wasn't acting any differently than usual; he was still awful to Harry and Heather.

                In fact, everyone was feeling better now that the high stress night of stealing and spying was over.  Fred and George were back to being Fred and George, Hermione was excelling in her classes, despite the time she spent working on the potion that would tell them what Bassett had given Winky.  

Heather, with Hermione's help, was getting very good marks, as well.  Ron was everywhere – helping Hermione with the potion, hanging out with Harry and joking with his brothers and Heather.  But no matter how busy they were, Harry, Ron, Heather, and Hermione always found time for just the four of them to do things – go down to visit Hagrid or just study.  All in all, it was the best time of Heather's life.

A/N:  Well, this is all I've got so far.  If you've got any ideas, suggestions, or things about the story that just don't work for you, e-mail me.  If not, reviews are a time honored form of encouragement!  Thanks for reading!

Disclaimer: None of this is mine, except Bassett, Heather Potter/Evans, and the plot.  Everything else belongs to JK Rowling and her many publishers (Scholastic, Bloomsbury, etc.)


	4. It's Beginning to Look a lot Like Voldie...

            "Well, that WOULD be true, except you forgot about the influence of Mars," Heather told Harry, pointing to his star chart.  "See look, Mars comes in on the 3rd of the month and stays until the 28th, and that other one – Venus, that comes in the 27th, so they overlap."  She leaned back in her chair, smiling triumphantly.  

            Harry studied the chart for a moment, brow furrowed.

            "I'm riiight, I'm riiight," Heather said in a sing-songy voice, "You know I'm riiight…"

            Harry glanced up at her and rolled his eyes, smiling ruefully.  "You know, doing Divination homework with you can be really annoying."

            "You're just intimidated by my superior intellect," Heather said carelessly, as she returned to her own star chart.  

            Harry snorted in disbelief.  "And you're modest, too.  Is it hard being so perfect?"

            Heather sighed deeply.  "Sometimes.  But I've grown used to it."

            This time Harry gave her a full grin before returning to work.  They were sitting in the Common Room one night in late October waiting for Ron and Hermione to come back from Moaning Myrtle's bathroom where they were working on the Dessembling Potion, which would divide the components of the solution Harry had found in the kitchen.  After that, they'd have to do lots of research to find out what the ingredients added up to.

            "Sooo…" Heather said after a while.  "Ron and Hermione.  Spending a lot of time together."

            Harry stopped writing and glanced up at her.  "And…?" He prompted. 

            Heather eyed him for a moment and then went back to her work.  "Hmm."

            She had all his attention now.  "'Hmm?'" Harry repeated. "What 'hmm'?"

            Heather looked at him again, one eyebrow raised.  "Well, you know them better than I do.  If you don't think it's relevant, then…I guess it's not relevant." By her tone, she made it clear that whatever she was hinting at was VERY relevant.  Harry, however, was in the dark.

            "What are you saying?" he asked, a bit impatiently.

            Heather looked at him and smirked.

By the time Ron and Hermione burst into the Common Room fifteen minutes later, Harry and Heather were bickering like they were brother and sister.

"Will you just TELL me?" Harry half shouted, looking extremely vexed and drawing looks from the other people in the room.

"No!  If you can't figure it out for yourself, I'm not going to get into it.  Just - forget about it, ok?"

"NO!  You can't just bring something up and then tell me to forget about it!  What-"

"Harry!" Hermione broke in, she and Ron giving their friend strange looks.

"Oh, look!  It's Hermione!" Heather said, grinning at the other girl.  She turned to Harry.  "Ron and Hermione.  Hermione and Ron."  Harry gave her a scathing glare.  "They're – here," Heather finished awkwardly, turning back to her other two friends, who both looked as confused as Harry felt.

Hermione recovered first.  "We've finished the potion!" she whispered excitedly as she and Ron slid into chairs at the table their two friends were seated at.

"What!" Harry's eyes widened, and his argument with Heather was quickly forgotten.

"Yeah, and better yet, Hermione thinks she knows what the potion is!" Ron said, grinning.  Harry and Heather looked at Hermione, eyes wide.  She put her bag on the table and pulled out a roll of parchment.  Flattening it on the table and facing it towards the other two, she started to explain.

"These are the ingredients in the potion you found, Harry.  I haven't double checked it yet, but I think these are the same ingredients to a potion I read about over the summer in our text book!"

Heather shoved her Potions book towards Hermione.  "Check!" she said eagerly.

Three sets of eyes watched intently as Hermione flipped through the pages of the book, scanning the words.

"Here it is!" Hermione whispered loudly, staring at a section near the back of the book.  She was quickly comparing the lists of ingredients.  "Oh…" The smile fell off her face and she looked up at them, horrified.

"What?" Harry asked nervously, his heart sinking horribly.  Hermione, face pale, pushed the book towards him and he started to read.  "Ohhh…." Harry said, looking worried.

Heather and Ron exchanged looks and then turned to Hermione and Harry.  "WHAT?"  They asked in unison.

"If Hermione's right, then the potion that Bassett's giving the house elves is Imperius Potion.  It does the same thing as the Imperius Curse – remember, Ron, we learned about it with Moody last year?"

Ron's eyes widened in shock, but Heather only looked confused.

Harry noticed her puzzled look and jumped in quickly.  "The Imperius Curse takes away a person's free will – they have to do whatever they're commanded to do," he paused, thinking.  "That explains why Dobby was acting so strangely when I was in the kitchens!  Listen to what the book says: 'Small doses of Imperius Potion result in the victim becoming weak-willed and perceptibly more subservient.  Larger doses render the victim helpless; in an almost zombie-like condition.'"

Heather blinked.  "So this potion…if Bassett's giving it to the house-elves, then they have to do what he says, whatever he says…" Her friends nodded mutely.  "But they already do anything you tell them, right?  I thought you guys said that they like serving humans and they have to do anything their masters tell them."  Hermione frowned but kept her equal rights speech to herself.

"Well, yeah, but Dumbledore's their master.  He wouldn't have told them to get up to anything bad.  But if someone's taking control of them, I doubt it's for good," Ron explained.

"Think about what they could make the house-elves do!" Harry exclaimed suddenly.  "They could poison Dumbledore, and with Dumbledore out of the way, Voldemort could take Hogwarts!"  

Hermione tensed and Ron looked like he was going to be sick.  Harry's eyes glazed over as he remembered the run-ins he'd had with the Dark Lord since first year and saw again the murders of his parents and sister.  Heather sank slowly back in her chair.  She had another reason for fearing Voldemort.  He had sent one of his followers to New York to kidnap her – was this his next attempt to get to her?

"We need to see Dumbledore as soon as possible," Hermione said, voice firm.

            The next day was Halloween, which dawned bright and clear.  With the sun shining and delicious smells of baking pumpkin wafting through the halls, the world of mind controlling potions and Voldemort seemed very far away indeed.  Still, the four fifth years discussed the issue between classes and passed notes about it in History of Magic.  They finally decided to approach Dumbledore with the information they had found after the Halloween feast.  Assuming that the password to his office hadn't been changed since Hagrid took Heather there, they'd be able to get in.  It was a rather large assumption, but it was their only chance.

            "This looks amazing!" Heather exclaimed as she, Harry, Hermione, and Ron entered the Great Hall.  Hermione smiled at her friend, whose gray eyes were open wide in amazement as she looked at the dozens of floating Jack-o-Lanterns and the hundreds of real bats that fluttered about the ceiling.  It was a clear night and a glowing full moon hung in the sky.

            "Yeah, the Halloween feast is always a treat," Ron said proudly.  "Of course, it never goes quite as you'd expect it to…"  

            Harry and Ron exchanged a look as they remembered their first three Halloweens at Hogwarts.  First year they'd ended up fighting a huge mountain troll, second year they'd gotten framed for petrifying Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris, and third year Sirius Black had broken into the castle and viciously attacked the Fat Lady while everyone was at dinner.

            The food appeared magically on the tables as soon as everyone was seated, looking even more delicious than the start of the year feast.  

            "We sneak into his dorm and put Dung Bombs in his bed," Ron suggested in between bites of chicken.  It was a bit later and the four were coming up with ways to best torture Malfoy.

            "We hide his hair gel," Heather said, grinning.  Her friends laughed.

            "We-" Harry started, but Hermione was too quick for him.

            "We turn his robes red and gold and write 'Gryffindor Pride' on his back!" she burst out eagerly.  Harry, Heather and Ron eyed her in amazement.

            "Hermione!  I didn't think you had it in you!" Ron said, sounding impressed.

            Hermione smiled and blushed and was about to reply when they suddenly heard shrieks coming from the Slytherin Table.  

            "I think someone might've beat us to it," Harry said, eyebrows raised.

            Shouts of fear and confusion were getting louder and louder, starting from the Slytherin table and spreading to the others.  Ron jumped up on his chair and peered above the crowd of students who were pushing away from their tables and trying to get a look at the action themselves. 

            "SILENCE!"  Dumbledore shouted, several exploding firecrackers shooting out of the end of his wand.  The screams died down until the only noise in the Hall was a sort of sick choking sound.  Dumbledore strode towards the Slytherin Table, Madam Pomfrey hurrying after him.  Craning his neck to get a better view, Ron gasped and his eyes widened.

            "It's Pansy Parkinson!" he whispered down to his fellow Gryffindors.  "Her whole mouth's swelled up – lips, tongue – everything!"

            Climbing onto a chair as well, Harry caught a glimpse of Pansy before Dumbledore got in the way.  She was pretty much as Ron described – her usually thin lips were puffy and drooping down almost to the table and her tongue looked like a thick, pink, slimy snake.  She was making dreadful gagging noises as her tongue grew still larger and started to slither to the floor.  Harry grimaced and looked away, getting off of his chair.

            "It looks like an Engorgement Charm or something – like what Fred and George did to Dudley last summer," he said, looking disgusted as he remembered what had happened when the twins 'accidentally' dropped some of their Ton Tongue Toffee on the Dursley's floor when they came to pick him up from his Aunt and Uncle's house.  "Except this is even more disgusting."

            Harry saw some movement by the Slytherin Table as Madam Pomfrey quickly led a sobbing Pansy Parkinson out of the Great Hall, levitating her mouth ahead of them.  As soon as the heavy doors shut behind them, the chatter started again, this time as a low, excited murmur as people speculated over what might've happened and described the scene to those unfortunate enough to be too short to see it for themselves.

            Professor Dumbledore returned to the High Table and cleared his throat for silence.  Slowly, the talking died away and faces turned to the Headmaster.

            "It seems," the Professor started, his usually deep and calm voice edged with anger, "that someone found it amusing to put Swelling Potion into some of the food.  It's possible that it wasn't only the Slytherins who were targeted, in which case I suggest you all return to your Common Rooms without eating any more of the feast.  The heads of your houses will be by shortly to discuss the matter with you.  If, at that time, anyone feels compelled to come forward with information about this thoughtless and inconsiderate act, they are welcome to.  Keep in mind, all of you, that whether they come forward or not, we will discover the perpetrators, and punishment will be much more severe if they don't confess on their own.  Prefects, lead your houses back to the dormitories."

            Hermione grabbed Heather's arm.  "That's me!" she whispered excitedly.  "Go see Dumbledore without me!"  Then she turned to face the rest of the table.  "Gryffindors!" she shouted over the din.  "This way, Gryffindors, come along!" She turned and walked towards the door, the rest of the house following obediently behind her as they chattered excitedly to each other.

            "We're never going to have a normal Halloween feast are we?" Ron complained, but Harry wasn't listening.  He and Heather shared a look.  They were both thinking the same thing: it looked as if Bassett had made his first move.

            "You think Professor Bassett poisoned Miss Parkinson?" Dumbledore asked, blue eyes serious.

Harry, Heather, and Ron had managed to head him off as he walked towards his office after the feast and had convinced him that they had a lead on the poisoner.

            "Well, not specifically her," Harry said hastily, "But we think – we _know_ – he's controlling the house-elves with Imperious Potion and we think he did this as sort of a trial run to test his control of them."

            Dumbledore looked around at the three fifth year students and, to their great surprise, smiled.  "There is obviously someone in this school with less than savory intentions.  But I assure you, it is _not_ Professor Bassett.  I won't ask how you found out about the Imperious Potion, because I already knew about it.  Yes, Mr. Weasley, I knew.  But I still don't know who is giving it to the elves."

            "But Professor Dumbledore," Heather broke in, "I _saw_ Professor Basset giving Winky the potion!  I saw him in the kitchens-"

            Dumbledore held up a hand for silence.  "Please, Miss Evans – don't say any more.  I sincerely don't want to have to punish you for being in the kitchens without permission.  And I don't want to know how you found out how to get in.  Now, I want all of you to go back to your dormitory and get some sleep.  I am handling the matter."

            "But Professor Dumbledore, what if it's a Death Eater?  What if they're going to poison you for Volde-"

            "That's enough, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said firmly.  "I appreciate your concern, but I _assure_ you, there is nothing to worry about."

~*~

            "Well," Heather said sarcastically once they were outside the Headmaster's office, "that went well."

            "Do you think Bassett's using some sort of spell on Dumbledore as well?" Harry asked, quietly.

            "No way!" Ron said loudly, "Dumbledore…no one's casting a spell on Dumbledore!"

            Heather shook her head.  "I'm with Ron.  I don't think Bassett's casting a spell; I just think that he's convinced Dumbledore he's on the right side.  Dumbledore's too trusting for his own good."

            There was a pause before Harry sighed.  "So I guess we just keep an eye on Bassett.  Do you think he and Snape are in it together?"

            Ron looked thoughtful.  "I'd say yes, but we always figure it to be Snape and it never is.  I hate to admit it, but I don't think he'd turn on Dumbledore."

            The three walked off together towards their Common Room, all deep in their own thoughts.  Behind them, Bassett stepped out from behind a suit of armor and watched them walk around a corner before he turned and headed towards the kitchens.

~*~

            Shortly after the Halloween fiasco was the next Quidditch match.  Angelina was obviously more worried about the upcoming game against Ravenclaw than she had been about their earlier game with Hufflepuff, who had had a rough time pulling a team together this year.  Harry had practice four times a week and was too worn out to think about much else, especially Bassett and the house-elves.

            It was gray and chilly as the Gryffindor team quickly put on their uniforms in the changing room the morning of the game.  

            "Now, I'm not very good at inspirational speeches," Angelina said once everyone was dressed.  "But I know that this team has what it takes to win this game.  Two years ago, we took home the Cup, and this year won't be any different.  We're off to a great start already, beating Hufflepuff.  That was the warm up.  This is it.  The big one.  The one we've all been waiting for…" she trailed off and grinned as the rest of the team laughed, remembering Oliver Wood's usual pre-game speech.  "Let's knock 'em dead!" Angelina finished.  Fred and George cheered and Katie, Alicia, Ryan, and Harry burst into applause.  Hearts pounding, they made their way onto the pitch.

            "And here's the Gryffindor team!" Lee Jordan, the Quidditch commentator said, his voice magically magnified.  "Finlay, Johnson, Spinnet, Bell, Weasley, Weasley, and Potter!"

            "Johnson, MacLeish – shake hands," Madam Hooch commanded.  _Tweeet!_  At the shrill sound of the whistle, they were off.

            "Katie Bell takes the Quaffle and she's headed for the goal – NO!" Lee Jordan shouted.  "Bludger hit at Bell by Ravenclaw Beater Alex Ditchik, Bell drops the Quaffle, which is picked up by Chaser Blaisdell who heads towards Gryffindor's goal!  Beater Weasley – can't tell which one – hits a Bludger at Blaisdell, who ducks it and shoots…OH!  Gryffindor Keeper Finlay blocks it and Chaser Johnson takes the Quaffle…" Far below, Gryffindors screamed and cheered for Ryan.

            Harry tuned out the sound of the commentary and scanned the pitch for the tiny gold glimmer of the Snitch.  Looking around he saw Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw Seeker, flying around a bit below him.  Harry felt the familiar flutter in his stomach, then quickly turned his broom in the other direction.  He couldn't afford to be distracted right now; the whole team was counting on him.  

Dropping a little lower down, Harry squinted over towards the Ravenclaw goal posts in time to see Angelina score a goal.  The stands erupted into cheers as Katie high-fived Angelina and Fred and George whistled.  Harry clapped along with the rest before returning to his search.  

Forty-five minutes and 5 goals later, Harry was ready for this game to be over.  The Ravenclaws had pulled ahead and the Gryffindors were too exhausted to take back the lead.  Fred seemed to be getting desperate as he smacked a Bludger into the back of Sean MacLeish's head while the Chaser wasn't even holding the Quaffle.  Madam Hooch awarded Ravenclaw a penalty shot, which, try as he might, Ryan couldn't save.  

            Harry turned away, punching the air furiously.  Fred looked ready to knock himself out with his own bat and Angelina seemed to be near tears.  Suddenly, Harry saw something gold glinting down at the Ravenclaw end of the pitch.  The Snitch!

He was off like a shot.  Below him, Cho saw where he was headed and rocketed ahead, trying to beat him there.  

She had been miles ahead of him to begin with - she was almost there - she was taking her broom higher - she was reaching for the Snitch - people in the stands were on their feet holding their breaths…. 

Harry put on an extra burst of speed and drew even with Cho – he was just above her and the Snitch when, suddenly, its tiny silver wings gave a flutter and it darted up right to Harry's level.  He reached out and snatched it before it could pass him, then curved out of his dive, holding the Snitch above his head.  

"And Harry Potter gets the Snitch!  Gryffindor wins 170 to 50!  Congratulations, Gryffindor!"  Lee Jordan shouted happily.  

It sounded like a bomb had gone off in the Gryffindor stands, people were cheering so loud.  Suddenly, Harry was being hugged and kissed by Angelina, Katie, and Alicia.

"Alright, Harry!" Fred and George cried in unison, as Harry was high-fived by a grinning Ryan.

"Bloody brilliant!" Ryan shouted, grinning from ear to ear.

The team swooped down onto the pitch to meet the rest of their house, who were spilling out of the stands to congratulate them.  

"Go Harry!" Heather yelled, jumping up and down next to Hermione and Ron.  She had obviously not gotten used to the sight of people riding flying broomsticks and looked as if she might faint with excitement.

"Nice flying!" Ron shouted, enthusiastically thumping Harry on the back.

Harry grinned broadly, feeling completely happy.

~*~

The first reports came in mid-December.  

The four were at breakfast in the Great Hall one Tuesday morning and Heather and Hermione were deeply involved in a conversation about last year's Yule Ball.  Heather had been very disappointed to hear that there were no Balls planned for this year but seemed endlessly fascinated by them, something Ron and Harry couldn't figure out.

"Oh, Hermione!" Heather squealed.  Harry had never heard her squeal before.  She didn't seem like the squealing type.  "You must've looked so pretty!  Do you have any pictures?"

Hermione was distracted from answering by the sudden rush of owls flooding into the Great Hall carrying the mail, much of which was copies of _The Daily Prophet_.  

Hermione caught her paper and snapped it open, scanning the headlines.  Suddenly, she made a little chocking noise and blanched.  Reading over her shoulder, Heather dropped her teacup on the floor, where it shattered.  

"What?  What is it?" Ron asked nervously.  Hermione, eyes wide in horror, passed the paper over the table to Harry.

**_DARK MARK SEEN OVER MURDER VICTIMS_**__

Is This the Work of the Dark Lord?

Mr. Jonathan Straley and his wife, Mrs. Rebecca Straley, were found dead in their home in Bristol yesterday, with the Dark Mark hovering over the house.  Authorities from the Ministry of Magic admit that the Straleys were apparently killed by excessive use of the Cuciatus Curse, a Curse that has not been used since the time of You-Know-Who.  The Dark Mark has also not been seen since the Quidditch World Cup the summer before last, when some alleged Death Eaters shot it into the sky.  All signs would apparently point to the return of He Who Must Not Be Named, something many people have been dreading since Harry Potter defeated him fourteen years ago.  'Of course he was coming back!'  Says Mr. Owen Thurman, an ex-Auror.  'No offence meant to Mr. Harry Potter, but how could a one-year-old child defeat the greatest Dark Wizard in over one hundred years?  No, Mr. Potter just slowed him down a bit.'  During the time of the Dark Lord, the Straleys worked in the Anti-Dark Arts Department of the Ministry.  They put many powerful Death Eaters in Azkaban, including the LeStranges. The Ministry, however, claims that the Straley's deaths were not the work of the Dark Lord, but the act of a disgruntled Death Eater looking for revenge.  'You-Know-Who has not come back!'  Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge insisted to this reporter.  'I assure you, this is the work of one of his minions longing for the old days.  Why, the very idea of You-Know-Who coming back is laughable!'  The Minister refused to go into detail on the measures being taken to capture the murderer, claiming that information is 'top secret'.

Although we all may want to believe that the Minister is correct, reports are coming in of other murders and torturing of ex-Aurors and Ministry officials all over the country. In additionto the Straleys, the confirmed dead so far are Frederick Iverson, Holly Charleston, Elliot Arwen, Laura Egler, Amber Dukeshire, Bartholomew Kent, Rosalyn Brown, and Eric Grittleson.  All of these people dedicated their lives to fighting the Dark Arts and their memories will be honored.  Whether they were killed by Death Eaters or the Dark Lord reincarnate, one thing is clear – things are starting to look all too familiar.

Ron looked pale.  "Looks like the Ministry couldn't keep the _Prophet_ quiet anymore."

"Still not one mention of Cedric," Harry said bitterly.  He noticed that a hush had fallen over the Great Hall – everyone seemed to be reading the paper.  Quite suddenly from further down Gryffindor Table, Lavender Brown gave a startled cry, making everyone jump.

"Aunt Rosalyn!" she gasped.  "Aunt Rosalyn – they killed her!"  Lavender started to cry and Parvati Patil hugged her tightly, terror and pity on her face.  Looking around, Harry saw that every face in the Great Hall was pale and frightened.

Well, almost every face…

"Look at Malfoy!" he whispered angrily to his friends.  "He looks almost happy!"

Malfoy did indeed look completely unaffected by the news.  If anything, his smirk was broader than ever and he was whispering to Crabbe and Goyle excitedly.  A few other Slytherins were doing as poor a job of disguising their glee.  It was obvious that many of them had Death Eaters in the family.

Up at the High Table, Dumbledore stood and cleared his throat.  "As you all probably know, Voldemort has indeed returned."  A low throbbing of noise broke out as the first years gasped and whispered to each other nervously.  The older students all sat as still as statues, watching Professor Dumbledore.  They remembered last year and the final announcements all too well.  "For the first years – near the end of last year, we lost a fine student to Voldemort.  I'm sure that by now you've been told about Cedric Diggory.  We have awaited the first death reports since last spring, so although they are heartbreaking and terrible, they are not unexpected and I want all of you to remember that you are just as safe now as you were at the start of term.  Breakfast will be extended for a half hour.  That should give you time to write messages to any family you wish to contact.  If you have further questions, the Heads of the Houses will make themselves available for you.  That is all."  There was a wave of rustling and movement as people started getting parchment and quills out of their bags and whispering to friends.  No one seemed comfortable speaking in normal voices yet.  

Harry looked up to see Professor McGonagall striding quickly towards Lavender Brown who she spoke softly to before leading the still crying girl out of the Hall.  

"I'm writing to Sirius," Harry muttered to his friends.  "He might not have heard."

"Who's Sirius?" Heather whispered back as Harry dug in his bag for an ink well.  

Harry looked up briefly.  "Ron, will you explain?"

~*~

One more report came in before Christmas holiday, but none of the listed casualties were related to any Hogwarts students.  Harry got a letter back from Sirius, which simply said that he had heard about the deaths and that Harry shouldn't worry about him or Remus, they were safe with some other members of 'the old crowd' that Dumbledore had mentioned at the end of last year.  Ron and Hermione were both headed home for Christmas – Ron for the first time in four years.

"I'll find out everything I can from Dad and Bill," Ron promised Harry.  "And Percy," he added as an afterthought, "but I doubt he'll go against anything Fudge says."

Finally the first day of the holiday arrived and Hermione and Ron were packing their trunks into a carriage and waving out the window at Heather and Harry as they bumped down the dirt road towards Hogsmeade.  

                Due to current circumstances, Harry and Heather were nearly the only students staying at the castle for Christmas.  Everyone else seemed to feel an urge to be close to home.  
            For the first few days of vacation, the two Gryffindors stayed mainly in the Common Room, until Heather started to loudly complain that she was bored and that they should be able to find _something_ interesting to do in a huge, magical castle.  This gave Harry the idea to get out his Firebolt and give Heather flying lessons in the Entrance Hall, which was a good idea in theory, but was quickly squashed when Heather accidentally flew directly into Snape, who was walking out of the Great Hall.

                After that, they reserved themselves to wandering around the castle and trying to find new secret passages.  They found several, none of which were new to the Marauder's Map.

~*~

            On Christmas morning, Harry was awakened by a sudden pounding on his door.  "Harry!  Wake up!  It's Christmas!" Letting herself in, Heather bounced into the room and seated herself on Ron's bed, grinning broadly.  "I LOVE Christmas," she told him, dumping a pile of her presents onto Ron's pillow and pulling one into her lap.  "Come on!" she urged, eagerly, "you start!"

            "Start…what?" Harry asked, confused.

            Heather rolled her eyes in exasperation.  "You open a present, then I open a present, then you again.  We go back and forth.  Don't tell me the Dursley's didn't do it like that."

            Harry shrugged, still a bit perplexed.  "We just mostly sat and watched Dudley unwrap his."

            Heather gave him a look of pity.  "Your life makes me sad," she informed him solemnly. 

            Harry grinned.  "Yeah, it's really tough," he joked back, reaching over the end of his bed and pulling a rather lumpy package into his lap.  "This one's a Weasley jumper.  Mrs. Weasley makes them every year-" He pulled off the wrapping and sure enough, a red and gold jumper fell onto his lap.  Holding it up, Harry grinned at the broomstick design knitted into the front.

            "Oh, cute!" Heather said in approval.  "Ok, my turn!" she said, rapidly tearing the paper off a box of Fizzing Whizzbees from Ron.  Apart from these, Heather got a few packs of Droobles Best Blowing Gum from Hermione, a box of Canary Creams from Fred and George, Pepper Imps from Harry, and a box of her own clothes from Michelle, the woman who ran her orphanage, who had somehow gotten the Hogwarts address.  "She doesn't sound worried," Heather said, reading the card that accompanied the clothes, "I wonder how Dumbledore explained it all to her."

            Harry had received a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans from Hermione, a box of Chocolate Frogs from Ron, a package of ice mice from Heather, two small Bish in a fish bowl from Hagrid, and a fake wand from Fred and George along with a note – 'Harry, Thanks again for the loan.  We'll pay you back once we sell enough of these!'.  Last of all, and by far Harry's favorite, was a huge book from Sirius and Remus – 'Quidditch at Hogwarts: A History of the Sport'.  Harry flipped through eagerly to a spot near the back that had been book-marked.  Waving up at him was a picture of his father, along with the rest of his Gryffindor Quidditch team.  

            Still levitating slightly from the Fizzing Whizzbees, Heather moved to sit next to him and looked at the picture with interest.  "Oh, wow – is that your dad?" she asked eagerly, pointing to a picture of James Potter zooming up the pitch on his broomstick.

            "Yeah," Harry whispered hoarsely, staring at the book, "and look – there's Sirius!  He's a Beater!" Harry grinned.  "Figures."  

            The pair of them watched as Sirius flew into the picture of James, who had stopped flying to grin and wave up at his son.  The two boys started dive bombing each other and pretending to fall off their brooms, reminding Harry strongly of Fred and George.

            "They were fifth years when this was taken…I really do look like him, don't I?" Harry said softly.

            "Yeah," Heather agreed, nodding.  "It says here he was Captain of the team."

            Harry smiled and put the book onto his bedside table.  

"You've got one more, haven't you?" he asked, gesturing to Ron's pillow, which was occupied by a small, gold box with a red ribbon tied tightly around it.

            Heather reached over and grabbed it.  "No note," she said curiously, pulling off the ribbon and lifting the lid.  She inhaled sharply and lifted out the contents of the box: a beautiful silver necklace studded with pearls.  "Oh, wow, this is gorgeous!"  Heather exclaimed, holding it up to her neck and fastening the clasp.  She leapt off the bed and dashed over the mirror, staring at her reflection.  After a moment she turned to Harry.  "Who would send something this nice to me?"

            "And with no note," Harry added, unsuccessfully searching Ron's sheets for a card.  "Maybe it's from Dumbledore," Harry suggested after a pause.

            "Dumbledore?" Heather asked skeptically, turning away from the mirror once more to stare at her friend.  

            "Well…" Harry shrugged.  "He gave me my Invisibility Cloak that my father left with him.  Maybe it belonged to a relative of yours or something."  Harry had to admit it sounded unlikely.  Heather's story made it pretty clear that she was Muggle born, and even if she wasn't, she _was_ American.  How would Dumbledore know her family?

            Heather adjusted the necklace happily.  "Well, whoever I got it from, they're my new best friend," she declared, grinning.

~*~

            On the last day of holidays, Harry and Heather were relaxing by the fire in the Common Room after a long snowball fight on the grounds.  Harry was reading his Quidditch book and Heather was carefully examining her new necklace as she sipped hot chocolate.

            The more she looked at it, the more familiar it seemed.  Although, she reminded herself, that was the way with most things.  But she couldn't shake the feeling that she had seen the necklace sometime long before she had ever come to Hogwarts.  Setting down her mug and leaning back in her armchair, Heather closed her eyes and tried to remember…

            _She grabbed playfully at the pearl that was dangling above her on a fine silver chain.  A smiling woman with red hair was looking down at her, pulling the necklace gently out of her grasp and laughing.  Her laughter was like music, beautiful and light.  A man stepped into her view, holding a child with hair as black as his own.  He grinned and kissed the woman on the cheek.  They were so happy, but something terrible would happen to them – something that would destroy them and everyone around them.  She had to warn them, had to stop it-_

            Heather gasped and sat up, making the necklace slide off her lap to the floor.  

            "What is it?" Harry asked, looking concerned.  Heather looked at the fire, just a few glowing embers now.  How long had she been sleeping there?

            "I don't know," Heather answered truthfully.  "I had a bad dream."

            "About what?" Harry asked curiously.

            Heather stared blankly at the last bits of fire, letting the brightness burn itself onto her eyes.  "I don't remember."


	5. A Quiet Year

A/N – Well, here it is, everyone – the fifth part, just one day later than expected.  Sorry about that, I seem to have some kind of unnatural skill for procrastinating – 2 weeks of vacation, and I STILL insist on waiting for the last four days to do any writing!  In my defense, however, my grandparents came up from Florida for Christmas and the second day here my grandfather had a stroke, so it's been kind of a stressful holiday.  Anyway, about the story: this section doesn't really get to the good stuff (them figuring out who Heather is, etc.) but you should still read it anyway, because the next (and hopefully final) part won't really make much sense otherwise.  Besides, I think this part is kinda cute, and I finally deal with that pesky little house elf issue.  So check it out, I hope you like it!

**DISCLAIMER:  Heather, Bassett, Veneficus, Terhune, and Hippolyta Thomas are my characters; everything else (except for maybe the Irish cave) belongs to J.K. Rowling, the undisputed goddess of Writerdom!  I'm not making any money off this; it's just for my own enjoyment, and hopefully yours.**

            Classes resumed shortly after, but things were far from returning to normal.  New reports of dead or missing witches and wizards were coming in almost weekly and a sort of mournful hush permeated the school.  Students went quickly from classes to class, occasionally speaking quietly to one another, but there was no laughing or shouting to friends.  Students were rarely seen in the corridors after dinner, instead staying inside their dormitories and common rooms as much as possible.

            They were living in the world of their parents – a world where people spent the night behind locked doors and closed curtains, nervously awaiting the next day's post, terrified of what they'd read.  Harry was having difficulty coping.  This was the world he'd ended – the world he was famous for destroying.  And now, in a way, he'd helped bring it back.

            The other students, who at the beginning of the year had seemed so used to him, now stared as he passed, pointing and whispering to their friends.  The story of his very first encounter with the Dark Lord was rehashed and embellished with new details, most of which Harry himself found very unlikely.  Some of the bolder students would stop him in the halls asking to see his scar, something that made Harry very uncomfortable.

            Unfortunately, Ron hadn't been able to learn much from Mr. Weasley or Bill during Christmas – all either of them knew was that a group of witches and wizards who didn't seem to be Aurors or Ministry officials was being assembled by Dumbledore in an undisclosed location.  Mr. Weasley had said that Sirius Black was rumored to be one of these people, which fit with the letter Harry had received from his godfather before the holiday.  Bill mentioned that he'd heard this group referred to as the Order of the Phoenix, but he couldn't be certain.

            Despite the problems in school and the world around it, the teachers had certainly _not_ forgotten that the fifth years would soon be taking their O.W.Ls (Ordinary Wizarding Levels), an exam held at the end of the year.  The workload after Christmas break was nearly double the amount they'd had before it, and the library was becoming a popular destination for many fifth year students.  Ron, Hermione, Harry and Heather spent many long and dull afternoons there, frantically trying to keep up with their assignments.  Heather probably had the worst of it as she had much more work to do - what with catching up _and_ trying to move ahead.  Hermione, however, was definitely the most stressed.  Unsurprisingly, she was already revising for the O.W.Ls, and at the same time attempting to help Heather with all her work.  As luck would have it, it turned out Heather was nearly as smart as Hermione (a trait she claimed she must have inherited from her parents), and therefore didn't need much assistance.  

            It was a Thursday evening that found the group at their usual table in the library.  They normally wouldn't have _had_ a usual table, due to Ron's great dislike of strenuous studying, but Harry insisted on spending most of his time there these days, to escape the whispering that followed him through the halls.  

            Finally reaching the end of his patience, Ron slammed his Defense book shut and glared moodily out the window, a dark scowl on his face.  He didn't say anything, probably remembering Hermione's violent reaction the last time he and Harry had started to discuss Quidditch during one of their study sessions.  This time, however, Hermione didn't seem to be up to having a violent reaction; she was studying her Arithmancy book at a very close range, muttering things that sounded suspiciously like quiet snores.

            Seeming to agree with the general mood of the group, Heather leaned back from her History of Magic essay (2 rolls of parchment on Edwinch the Eager), and rubbed her neck, shifting uncomfortably in her chair.  She began to stare blankly at a bookshelf near the table before letting her eyes drift slowly closed.  Glancing around at his three friends, Harry couldn't help becoming slightly depressed.  They'd all been cooped up in the castle too long with nothing to do but worry and study.  It was getting to everyone.  

            Harry had barely returned to his work when Heather visibly tensed.  Looking at her curiously, he saw her face was fixed in a carefully neutral expression and she seemed to be reading over her essay.  Pulling out her quill, she quickly jotted something on another sheet of paper, then turned to Harry.

            "Harry, help me, I'm drawing a blank – which way do you spell 'Edwinch'?"  She pointed to her paper, where Harry expected to see several of her attempts at the goblin's name, but instead he read:

_Bassett's hiding behind that bookshelf, watching us.  BE COOL!  Don't let him know we see him!_

            Harry had to force himself not to glance up immediately to see if Heather was right.  "Umm…  I think it's the first one."  He said, voice calm.  "It's spelled like it sounds – Ed-winch."

            "Thanks, that's what I thought."  Heather responded, nodding and starting on her essay once more.

            Doing his best to look casual, Harry glanced up at the bookshelf opposite.  Sure enough, someone was lurking behind it, half hidden in shadows.  Harry went back to his work, mind reeling.  Why was Bassett watching _them_?  Had he somehow discovered that they suspected him of poisoning the house elves and Pansy?  Snape was also somehow involved – did Bassett's spying have anything to do with the other professor's intense dislike of Harry and Heather?  Harry risked another glance at the bookshelf, but found that Bassett was gone.  He barely had enough time to exchange a nervous glance with Heather before Madam Pince appeared to tell them that the library was closing and curfew was in five minutes.  After rousing Hermione, the group didn't have time to do anything but bolt up to Gryffindor tower before they were caught and punished for being out of their dorm after eight.

            Once back in their common room, they were able to discuss the matter openly.  

            "What's he watching _us_ for?"  Ron asked once Harry and Heather had given a rushed explanation of what they'd seen.

            Harry, who'd had more time to think about it, was the one who answered.  "He probably wants to find out how much we know about him."

            "And what we're planning to do about it."  Heather added, brow furrowed.

            "What _do_ we do about it?"  Hermione asked desperately.  "Dumbledore doesn't believe us – we've been keeping eyes on Bassett _and_ the kitchens, with nothing to show for it….  What are we supposed to do?"

            Harry was also frustrated.  "Every year there's always steps – one clue leads to another.  This year there's nothing to take us to the next level."

            "Okay, this is what we know."  Heather started, taking a deep breath.  "Bassett - who's most likely a Death Eater - is giving the house elves Imperius Potion so he can control them, and he probably used that to make them put Swelling Potion in some of the Halloween feast as a trial run – to make sure they would do whatever he said."

            "And all this is leading up to the big finish."  Harry went on, nodding.  "Which, we're assuming, is poisoning Dumbledore so Voldemort won't have anyone who can match him, _and_ so he can take Hogwarts."

            "And you, Harry."  Ron pointed out, looking pale and shaky.

            "And Heather!"  Hermione added, clearly alarmed.  "He wanted her badly enough to send Pettegrew to New York, I'm sure he hasn't given up."

            Harry nodded in agreement.  "If he's proved anything in the last fourteen years, it's that he doesn't give things up easily."

            "So now we know what's happening, we just need to figure out what to do about it."  Heather said, ignoring the chill that went up her spine.  Once again she wondered why Voldemort would be looking for her in the first place.  It couldn't just be because she was a witch.  He had loads of followers who were much stronger than her.  Why did he want her at all? 

            "Well, first of all we need to get back to our usual standard of dealing with things like this."  Harry said, determination in his eyes.  "With everything that's been going on, we've let things slide.  I'd say we should keep a better watch on Bassett, but no matter how well we watch him we can't be there all the time, even with the Invisibility Cloak.  So I suggest that we try to get a contact in the kitchens or something."

            "Right."  Heather agreed, nodding.  "We should check in with the house elves and see if they've come down off their Imperius Potion high.  Then we'll tell them what's going on, and to avoid anything else Bassett gives them.  If we can get enough of them to stop taking it, we can take them to Dumbledore as witnesses or something.  He'll have to deal with Bassett then!"  

            There was a lot of unenthusiastic nodding all around.  They had a solid plan, but there still seemed to be quite a few 'what if's involved.

            Finally, Harry voiced what they were all thinking.  "Does anyone else feel like we're in a bit over our heads?"

            "This would be so much easier if we could talk to Dumbledore!"  Ron burst out, frowning.

            "It's scary not to be able to count on him."  Hermione agreed, shifting nervously in her chair.

            "Okay, guys, this is sad."  Heather said, looking around at her friend's depressed expressions.  "Don't any of us have any authority figures in our lives _other_ than Dumbledore?  I'm an orphan.  What've you got?"

            "The Dursleys."  Harry scowled.  "Need I say more?"

            "My parents are Muggles."  Hermione put in.

            "My parents wouldn't even believe me."  Ron said, gloomily.  "And if they did, they'd just tell me to keep out of trouble and trust Dumbledore."

            "Well, what about that constellation guy?"  Heather asked, looking at Harry.

            He gave her a puzzled look.  "_What_?"

            "Sirius!"  Hermione clarified, looking excited.  

            "Or Remus!"  Harry added after a moment of thought.  "Why didn't I think of them?  I'll send them an owl today.  Sirius said they were hiding out together – between the two of them, they should be able to come up with something."

            "Well, that's a relief."  Hermione said, sighing happily.  "Professor Lupin is bound to have something good."

            "And if not, maybe Sirius could just come and beat up Snape!"  Ron said, looking even more cheerful than his friends.  "Kidding, Hermione!"  He added quickly.

~*~

            Sirius Black re-read the letter from his godson once more, frowning thoughtfully.  Harry certainly was a magnet for trouble.  Sirius couldn't help smiling at one line in the letter: '_We've all thought about it and decided that you and Remus are the only authority figures we have in our lives._'  Sirius had never really considered himself an 'authority figure' until now, but he supposed that was what he was.  He was Harry's legal guardian – the closest thing to a father the boy had any more.  Sirius winced.  The thought still brought him pain.  He hadn't been truly happy in the fourteen years since James and Lily's deaths, not even for a moment.  Of course, twelve of those years he'd been in Azkaban….

            And what was this about 'Heather Evans'?  Harry simply said she was a Muggle born witch from America who had been brought to England by Peter Pettegrew on Voldemort's orders.  But then Peter just left her in the Forbidden Forest.  Why?  And why did Voldemort want anything to do with the girl to begin with?  Something about that story didn't quite fit.

            Sirius glanced over as Remus Lupin sat down next to him against the cold, stone wall of the cave and handed him a sandwich.  

            "Arabella got these from the village."  He explained.  The two of them, along with Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher, Hippolyta Thomas, and the rest of the surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix were holed up in a cave near the edge of a forest by a small village in Ireland, waiting for orders from Dumbledore.

"Thanks."  Sirius answered with a small smile as he took the offered food.  

"What's that?"  Remus asked, mouth full.

"Letter from Harry."  Sirius replied, handing over the object in question before starting in on his own meal.  Remus read the letter while he ate, raising his eyebrows and making sounds of interest every so often.  Sirius studied his old friend out of the corner of his eye.  He looked tired.  That was something that could be said for all of them, but Remus was worse off than any of the others.  He had only recently gotten through with his monthly transformation, and it hadn't been easy on any of them.  Mundungus had managed to secure the use of a nearby farmer's shed for the night and Sirius had stood guard outside it, just in case.  Mundungus and some of the others had wanted to stay and keep him company, but Sirius had insisted he could go it alone, mostly for Remus' sake.  He could remember clearly how humiliated his friend was by his transformed self when they were in school.  Thinking back on the howls and yelps of pain wolf-Remus had made all night, Sirius could understand how he felt.  It wasn't shameful, just…private.  But being there with Remus during his transformation again had made Sirius wish he could unlock to the door and transform as well, like old times – those howls had sounded so miserable.  

Back in the present, Remus made a final exclamation over the letter and handed it back to Sirius.

"What d'you figure?"  Sirius asked, taking the letter.

"I don't know."  Remus answered honestly.  "I'd say they should just have faith in Dumbledore, but that's obviously not what he wants to hear."

"And about this Heather Evans girl?"  Sirius prompted, eager to get his old friend's opinion on the whole situation.

Remus considered for a moment.  "I like that she calls you 'that constellation guy'."  He said finally, with a smile.  

Sirius grinned ruefully.  "Yeah, I've never heard _that_ one before."  He muttered.

"There's certainly something about her story that doesn't fit."  Remus added, more seriously.

"I agree.  I'm willing to bet a hundred galleons that she's not just some Muggle born witch."

"And no matter what she is, there's got to be some better reason why she wasn't contacted by a school of magic.  I suppose they're less efficient over in America, but really – something like that is inexcusable."  Remus pointed out, sounding very British indeed.

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments as Sirius stared out of the cave mouth at the heaps of snow outside, feeling grateful once more for the dozens of warming charms there were in the cave.  It felt good to be here, just sitting with other human beings.  It was wonderful being near people who weren't criminals, or insane, or both.  And most of all, it was fantastic to have at least one of his old friends back with him.  Alone in Azkaban for all those years…Sirius had started to feel like his past was lost forever.  Thinking back on his school days at Hogwarts, Sirius wondered if he could ever be that happy again.  

He glanced once more at the letter in his lap, examining the signature – '_Harry Potter_'.  Closing his eyes, Sirius thought back to his sixth year at Hogwarts, 21 years ago.  Lily and James had just started dating.  Now they had a son who was almost as old as they had been then.  Sirius suddenly recalled a memory that had been lost to him since he entered Azkaban.

"How long are we going to be kept out of our room?"  Peter Pettegrew whined to his friends Remus and Sirius.  They were all sitting in the empty Gryffindor common room late one night to give James and Lily some privacy upstairs.  It was the first time the couple had seen each other in three weeks - since Christmas break started.  So Remus, Sirius and Peter had decided to humor them by discreetly leaving the room.  Well, Remus had been discreet.  Sirius and Peter had made a big fuss by making kissing noises and complaining, respectively.  James and Lily had barely even noticed.

_"Be patient, Peter."  Sirius said calmly.  "Maybe James is getting lucky.  We wouldn't want to interrupt that once in a life time event."_

_Remus rolled his eyes at Sirius, who was grinning at him, then turned to Peter.  "You should have brought some homework down, Wormtail."  He informed his short friend.  "You know how long they take once they get going."_

_"They'll be down once they decide which one's prettier."  Sirius said, snorting disgustedly.  "Honestly, we'd better be careful – we can't let James fall into the love trap.  Now, I know he can be annoying, but he **is** one of our own, and therefore it's our duty to protect him."  Sirius proclaimed with the air of a warrior preparing for battle._

_Remus rolled his eyes again, this time smiling slightly.  Something told him Sirius' efforts would be too little, too late._

_At that moment, Lily skipped down the stairs of the boy's dormitory, looking blissful._

_"He's all yours, boys."  She announced._

_"Finally!"  Peter said tactlessly as he bolted for the stairs Lily had just descended._

_She did nothing but raise a slightly amused eyebrow at him as he streaked past before she continued towards the girl's staircase._

_"I hope you left him alive up there!"  Sirius called after her._

_Lily paused at the bottom step, turned, grinned, and winked at the two remaining Marauders, then climbed out of sight._

_Remus smiled and started to pack up his bag, then looked over at Sirius, who hadn't moved.  He was still staring after Lily, a sort of admiring smile on his face._

_"That girl…" He let the sentence trail off and Remus raised his eyebrows.  "Let's just say, if Prongs hadn't gotten there first-"_

_Remus interrupted.  "If Prongs hadn't gotten there first, then you **still** wouldn't have gotten any."  He said, grinning.  They both knew Sirius didn't think of Lily as any more than a good friend, but Sirius liked to pretend otherwise, just to annoy James.  "Come on."  Remus said, pulling Sirius to his feet.  "Let's go pick up the pieces of whatever she left upstairs._

_They arrived in their dormitory to find James lying flat on his back, arms spread wide, grinning like an idiot.  Peter was sitting nearby, looking worried.  _

_"James isn't talking sense."  He informed Remus and Sirius anxiously when they appeared.  "I think he's ill, maybe we should-"_

_James interrupted dreamily.  "If I am ill, then let me die of this disease.  It is the sweetest sickness ever known to man."_

_They all stared at him for a long, silent moment, unsure how to take this abrupt change in character._

_"Maybe we should take him to Madam Pomfrey."  Peter continued, wringing his hands.  "She's bound to have something for-"_

_"It's no good."  James cut across his friend once more with a happy sigh.  "There is no cure for this disease, and if there is, I abhor it."_

_Sirius blinked.  He didn't even know James knew what 'abhor' meant.  "Nooo…"  He gasped suddenly, eyes widening.  "No, no, no – Prongs!"  He rushed over to the bed and grabbed his friend by the shoulders, pulling him into a sitting position.  _

_"Hang on, James!"  Sirius said loudly, as if James were many miles away.  Looking at their friend's expression, Remus had to admit that assessment wasn't far off._

_"Don't give up, Prongs!  Just fight a little more – it's not too late!"  Sirius was shouting now.  Peter sat staring at the two of them looking alarmed, and Remus just watched, brow furrowed, unsure of how the scene would play out._

_"It **is** too late, Padfoot, old friend."  James said, still grinning blissfully.  "I've reached the point of no return."_

_Sirius gasped, and his expression of panic changed to one of extreme admiration.  "You got lucky?!"_

_This finally brought James back to earth and he gave Sirius a look of great annoyance.  "No!"  He said firmly.  "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk like that when Lily is involved."  His voice and his words held a touch of the old James, and Sirius, who had been looking disappointed after the first word, started to look hopeful.  But then – _

_"Our love transcends simple physical attraction.  We're soul mates."  The idiotic grin and faraway look were back._

_Remus decided to cut in.  "James, what happened?"  He asked desperately, trying to understand this sudden and dramatic change in his friend._

_"I told her that I loved her."  James replied blissfully.  "And she said she loved me."_

_There was another pause as Remus started to smile and Sirius waited for James to continue.  He didn't._

_"That's IT???"  Sirius demanded finally, his expressing caught between being incredulous and horrified._

_"Sirius, Sirius, Sirius."  James said with a vague smile and a look of newfound wisdom.  "That's **everything**."_

Back in the present, Sirius couldn't help grinning.  James and Lily had loved each other so much.  He wished Harry could've known them.  Beyond that, he wished Lily and James could've known their son.  They both would have been so proud of him.  Heaving a sigh, Sirius stared down at the letter again wearing a melancholy expression.

"More reports."  Remus' voice said grimly, reminding Sirius that he was there.  

Glancing over at his friend, Sirius saw that he had a copy of the Daily Prophet in his hand.  Sirius hadn't even noticed the owl that delivered it.  Remus winced at what he read, then threw the paper down angrily.  

"It's getting worse."  He said.  "Voldemort must be gaining strength.  The things they're doing to people…"  He let the sentence trail off and took a deep breath.  "It's worse than it was the first time."  Remus said finally, voice tight.

Sirius looked away, trying to ignore the painful clenching in his chest.  Lily, James, and Heather had died so the world could be Voldemort-free.  And now, because of Peter, the Dark Lord had returned, even more terrible than before.  

"We have to do something before it gets out of control."  Sirius said, trying to keep his voice even.  "We can't just sit around any more."

"What do you propose, Sirius?"  Remus demanded impatiently, a hopeless look in his eyes.  "We can't do anything until Dumbledore gives us the word – we're not strong enough to take Voldemort on ourselves!"

"So what do we do?"  Sirius retorted loudly, making some of the other people in the cave stare.  "Sit around and wait for Voldemort to die of old age?  It's only going to get worse, Remus – he'll only get stronger!  We need to act now-"

Sirius was suddenly interrupted as a large eagle owl swooped into the cave and dropped an envelope on the floor before wheeling around and soaring out once more, hooting urgently.  

Sirius and Remus clambered to their feet, but Mundungus got there first.  He tore open the letter and read through it quickly.

"It's from Dumbledore."  He announced finally to the crowd of witches and wizards who had gathered around him.  "He wants us to move to another location – he's going to meet us there in a week!"

Sirius watched as the people around him snapped into action, packing up their belongings and destroying evidence of their short stay in the cave.  It looked like they would have action much sooner than he expected.

~*~

It was nearing the end of February, and the situation at Hogwarts had started to change.  Morale was a bit higher as the snow melted and some of the more stubborn flowers had already started to spring up all over the grounds.  

Harry was overjoyed to be starting Quidditch practice again; it helped take his mind off other, more unpleasant distractions.

Bassett seemed to have lost his nerve; Harry, Heather, Ron and Hermione had been taking turns spying on him at night with the Invisibility Cloak and were all pleased to report nothing out of the ordinary.  The house elves Harry had spoken to all claimed that none of the teachers had been to see them in quite a long time.  Harry couldn't help feeling that they weren't out of the woods yet, but he kept these dark feelings to himself.  

Dumbledore was gone from the castle frequently, and Fred and George speculated that he was meeting with the Order of the Phoenix, as well as some other allies he had (hopefully) managed to assemble.  Harry hoped Dumbledore had a plan.  Voldemort, who had previously been going on a sort of mad rampage of murdering and torturing Muggles and wizards alike, had been suspiciously quiet for the past two weeks.  Dumbledore, when he was at school, seemed harried and distracted.  This made them all even more nervous, but the teachers were doing an admirable job of distracting them from the situation by continuing a steady flow of homework assignments.  But if nothing else, the many problems and worries had started to become familiar enough not to be too distracting, which made everything easier to bear.

"I have never had so much work in my life!"  Heather announced to Hermione, as she scrubbed at her face in the girl's dormitory washroom.  "Is it always this bad?"

"No."  Hermione called back from the dormitory, where she was making her bed as Lavender braided Parvati's hair.  "I think it's because we're fifth years now.  Next year should be even worse."

Parvati giggled as Heather shot them all a look of exaggerated terror through the open washroom door.

"At least none of us are taking Muggle Studies."  Hermione commented, seating herself on the edge of her bed.  "I heard Professor Veneficus has gone absolutely mad this year.  Apparently he's always late for class, and just assigns them homework to do instead of having actual lessons.  Ernie McMillan thinks he had some sort of run in with Muggles over the summer, because he doesn't seem so fond of them anymore.  Ernie says that class is dreadful."

"Well, Professor Veneficus has got to be having a hard time of it."  Lavender said softly from her perch on the end of her bed.  "Mum told me his whole family died this summer while he was vacationing with them.  The _Prophet_ said that it was some sort of accident, but now they're admitting it was Death Eaters."

There was an uncomfortable silence from all of them and Heather, who was leaning in the doorway of the washroom, exchanged a look with Hermione.  None of them had forgotten about Lavender's Aunt Rosalyn.

"I didn't hear about that."  Hermione said quietly.  "I stopped taking that class after third year."  She informed Heather, who was now getting into her own bed.

"You took Muggle Studies?"  Heather asked, looking confused.  "Why?  You're Muggle born!  You already know all about Muggles!"

Hermione rolled her eyes.  "That's exactly what Ron said all year."  

Heather smiled.  "About Ron…"  She said slowly.

"Yes?"  Hermione prompted, curiously. 

Heather eyed her appraisingly, and Lavender stopped braiding Parvati's hair as the two of them started to watch the exchange with great interest.

Hermione, who was obviously starting to get an idea of where this was going, colored slightly.  "Heather, there's nothing going on between me and Ron."  

Heather smirked, then shrugged.  "If you say so." 

Hermione gave a relieved sigh.  She seemed to think the conversation was over, but Heather knew people way too well to think the same.  Part of her trick for gaining popularity at her old schools was to understand how people's minds worked – particularly how popular people's minds worked.  It was clear that Parvati and Lavender were prepared to do anything to get a full confession out of Hermione, no matter how long it took.  And sure enough:

"Oh, Hermione!  You like Ron?"  Lavender exclaimed, hurrying over to sit next to their roommate.  "Does he like you back?  How long have you liked him?  Did he kiss you?"

"What?!"  Hermione cried, looking shocked.  "No!  I just told you – there is nothing going on between me and Ron!"

But Parvati and Lavender were obviously hearing something else.  "Oh, that's so sweet!"  Parvati squealed, sharing a delighted look with Lavender.  Hermione just stared at them, obviously at a loss for words.

Heather watched the three as Lavender and Parvati went through a list of all the cool or funny things Ron had ever done, and all the times they'd seen him talking to Hermione.  Heather grinned.  The laws of teenage-girl nature obviously applied everywhere – from Muggle America right to Magical Europe.  Here were Parvati and Lavender, who undoubtedly had never expressed any real interest in either Ron or Hermione, acting like they were maids of honor at their wedding.

"Oh, Hermione!"  Lavender gasped suddenly.  "What about Viktor Krum?"

"Have you broken the news to him yet?"  Parvati asked sympathetically.

"Wait, who's Viktor Krum?"  Heather asked, perking up considerably.

Hermione gave her a desperately helpless look, clearly unsure of how to deal with the situation.  It was obvious Lavender and Parvati weren't going to hear anything they didn't want to, and Heather seemed to be going the same way.

"Oh, Viktor's a star Quidditch player for Bulgaria."  Lavender told Heather breathlessly.  "He came to Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament last year and he took Hermione to the Yule Ball!"

Heather gasped, a smile on her face.  "Hermione!  You never told me you had a date for the Yule Ball last year!  Oh, that is so cute!  Was he really hot?"

"Not really-" Hermione started, frowning, but Parvati interrupted.

"Oh, he was darling!  And he was so good at Quidditch!  He asked you to visit him during the summer, right Hermione?"

Heather shrieked gleefully.  "No way!  How was it?  Did you have fun?  Tell me _everything_!"

"Well, I didn't go."  Hermione stammered as all eyes turned to her.

There was a collective gasp.

"You didn't go?"  Heather demanded, real shock showing on her features.  "Why?"

"Well, he was nice and everything, but I think it might have just been awkward.  And we would hardly ever have seen each other during the year…"  She trailed off, looking sheepish.

"Oh…"  The other girls said, nodding with understanding.

"Well, who knows?"  Lavender said after a short pause.  "Maybe you could make it work with him.  Or maybe Ron is the one you should be with."  She gasped, as if struck by sudden inspiration.  "Hermione!  Parvati and I could ask Professor Trelawney for you!  I'm sure she'd know just what you should-"

"No."  Hermione said firmly, finally putting her foot down.  "I'm not going to ask Professor Trelawney about anything."

Heather, hoping to avoid the fight that was clearly about to begin, spoke up.  "Oh, yeah, Hermione, I totally agree.  I mean it's just so much better if it's all a surprise, ya know.  That way you don't have to force anything."

Luckily, Hermione didn't bother to set her straight and Lavender and Parvati's expressions cleared as they nodded in agreement.

"Well, I think we've bullied Hermione enough for tonight."  Heather said finally, making her voice sound reluctant.  "'Night, girls."

"Goodnight."  Parvati and Lavender said cheerfully as they climbed into their own beds.

Heather smiled at Hermione as she gave her a grateful look and mouthed 'thank you.'

"No problem."  Heather whispered back, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"What's that?"  Hermione asked suddenly, sitting up straight and staring at Heather's forehead.

"Oh – it's my scar."  Heather said, seeing where her friend was looking.

"I-it's-"

"Exactly like Harry's?"  Heather finished, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione gulped and nodded.

"Yeah, well his is from when Voldemort tried to kill him.  Mine is from when my nanny dropped me on my head as a child."

Hermione looked startled and Heather grinned.

"Yeah, it explains a lot, huh?"  

But Hermione still didn't look convinced.  She sat frowning and absently stroking her large ginger cat, Crookshanks.

"Hermione, come on.  You don't honestly think I got mine the same way Harry got his, do you?"

Hermione just stared and Heather rolled her eyes.  "If I'd gotten mine the same way, don't you think you'd have heard about it before?  And don't you think that I'd be a little more famous?  Besides, Voldemort only got his power broken once, and I was very far away at the time."

Hermione blinked, then nodded, crawling into bed.  She and Heather said goodnight to each other before drawing their bed curtains closed, but Hermione stayed awake long after.  Everything that Heather said was true, but that scar…  It was exactly the same shape as Harry's, and in exactly the same place.  Was it just coincidence?  Hermione snorted to herself.  Of course it was coincidence.  There was no way that Heather had gotten that scar from You-Know-Who.  It just wasn't possible, no matter how you looked at it.  But all the same…did this have something to do with why You-Know-Who was after Heather?  The situation certainly wanted thinking about, but that could wait until morning.  Hermione was suddenly very tired.

It was a few days later and Harry, Heather, Hermione and Ron were in Potions class, working on a Healing Potion.  Hermione and Ron were working together, something that Parvati and Lavender, working at a cauldron on the other side of the room, didn't fail to notice.  They giggled annoyingly every time Ron said anything to Hermione, until Heather shot them a warning look and shook her head, gesturing discreetly to Professor Snape, who looked ready to start taking away house points.  It didn't seem to occur to the two girls that Snape had chosen the partners for today, which Harry was sure he did so he could put him with Heather and therefore had only one potion to criticize.  

Indeed, Snape didn't move more than a foot away from them once during the entire lesson, continually making derogatory comments about both their potion making abilities.  This amused Draco Malfoy to no end – he and his fellow Slytherins sniggered appreciatively the entire time.  Harry's hands shook with anger as he tried to cut up the tagis root, and the sloppy cuts prompted Snape to make a more public display of their humiliation.  

"Look at these roots, Potter."  Snape drawled loudly, leaning over the table.  "They are unacceptable.  I clearly stated that I wanted nice, even cuts, but you weren't listening were you?"

Harry didn't answer.  He and Heather were glaring at Snape with such hatred that Ron couldn't help but shiver.  The rest of the class had given up any pretense of working and were all watching the spectacle.  The Slytherins looked as though all their dreams had come true at once, but the Gryffindors looked ready to declare mutiny.

"No.  I thought as much."  Snape answered his own question after a long, tense pause.  "Famous Harry Potter doesn't need to listen to such trivial things as directions.  Like father like son, I suppose.  James, too, was awful with potions."

"He did well enough to be Head Boy," Heather pointed out through clenched teeth, voice shaking with rage.  It was a good thing she'd come to Harry's rescue because he'd made a sudden movement in the direction of the Professor and Heather's comment seemed to placate him.  For the moment, at least.

Snape's dark eyes swiveled to Heather and his usually sallow skin lost all color.  It seemed that Heather had touched a sore point, and Snape snarled, revealing uneven teeth.

"I have no idea why I'm even wasting my time attempting to teach you, Miss Evans.  A fifth year who doesn't even know the power of Hemel Juice isn't really a fifth year at all."  Heather blushed with anger and embarrassment, but her gaze was unflinching.  Snape, however, wasn't finished.  "Perhaps you'd be better off at a nice Muggle school – it would be more familiar, in any event."  

Harry glared at Snape, a funny ringing in his ears that he hadn't heard since three summers ago when Aunt Marge had called his father a 'no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger'.  Snape had no right to treat them like this, just as Aunt Marge had no right to talk about Harry's father that way.  Snape needed to be taught a lesson…

Ron watched in fury as Snape continued insulting Heather.  Harry looked ready to do murder, and at the moment, Ron could honestly say he was ready to help.

"Both of you are arrogant little-" Snape stopped abruptly with a strangled yell and dropped to the floor, clutching his left forearm.  

For a split second, Ron thought that Harry or Heather had finally snapped and had done something to Snape, but then his two friends were on the floor, too, both of them clutching their heads and writhing in pain.  Heather was screaming like she was being tortured and tears poured out of her eyes, which were squeezed shut.  

In an instant, all the other students in the class were on their feet, looking shocked and horrified.  Even the Slytherins had stopped laughing, faces pale as they beheld the scene in front of them, obviously at a loss for what to do.  Harry was clearly making a valiant effort not to scream, but he was biting his tongue so hard it bled and making strangled noises in his throat.  His leg kicked out convulsively, sending his overturned stool to the other side of the dungeon.  Snape made several efforts to stand, but he could only make it to his knees before collapsing to all fours again, jaw clenched as he moaned in pain.

            Malfoy took one more terrified look around before sprinting out of the dungeon, followed by a few of his friends.  The rest of the Slytherins just stood uncertainly in the back of the room, some of them with their hands over their mouths.

            Hermione suddenly seemed to snap into action.  "_Mobilicorpus_!"  She shouted, wand pointed at Harry.  He rose into the air, still lying horizontally, still clutching his head and shuddering in pain.  "Ron, help me!"  Hermione shouted desperately over Heather's screaming sobs. 

            Forcing himself to move, Ron pulled out his own wand and soon he and Hermione were sprinting through the corridors, Harry and Heather levitating ahead of them, both still apparently in too much pain to even notice that they were shooting through the hallways of the school, four feet above the ground.  The rest of the fifth year Gryffindors dashed along behind them, terrified worry written all over their faces.  

Snape was left behind.  

~*~

            Voldemort stood in Azkaban fortress, watching the activity surrounding him with a small smile on his lizard-like face.  Dementors were streaming out of the wide open doors, floating along as their long black robes skimmed the rough stone floors of the prison.  Death Eaters marched down the narrow aisles, throwing open cell doors and liberating those trapped inside.  The prisoners of Azkaban were some of Voldemort's most faithful followers, and he would not leave them here.  Besides, by taking over Azkaban, Voldemort gained some formidable allies.

            The Dementors had agreed to stand watch outside the jail (which was Voldemort's new headquarters) to make sure anyone who got close enough to see that things weren't normal in the prison wouldn't make it back to the mainland.  And if they did, they wouldn't be in any condition to tell anyone anything.  And then, once Voldemort had made friends with the giants, he would take Hogwarts and prove to the world that no one – NO ONE – was greater than Lord Voldemort.  Not Dumbledore, not Harry Potter… 

            And not Heather Potter.  He would have to find her first.  If he took on the Potter twins one at a time, there might be doubt.  People might think that the two of them together were more than he could handle.  That wasn't the case, of course.  He could have destroyed Harry last year, but the boy had slipped through his fingers.  

Not this time though.  Once Voldemort had the giants and Heather Potter, he would be at Hogwarts in the blink of an eye.  He was ready.  And after that, absolutely nothing would stand in his way.

~*~

"Are they going to be okay?"

"Eventually.  They just need a bit more rest."

"That was…I've never seen anything like that before.  What happened?"

"Hopefully they can tell us when they wake up."

Harry tried to make sense of what he was hearing, but he couldn't.  He felt as if he was floating through a dark void where everything was confused and disconnected.  He tried to open his eyes, but his lids were too heavy.

"Look!  I think Harry's waking up!"

Harry moaned a little as he finally forced his eyes open and squinted at the sudden brightness.  His tongue hurt.  A lot.

"Harry!"  Hermione gasped, looking greatly relieved as she knelt by his bed.  They seemed to be in the hospital wing, but he had no idea how they had gotten there.  He was late for Potions…

"Alright, Harry?"  Ron said in a strangely choked voice.  He was standing right behind Hermione, looking pale and frightened.  Close to, Harry noticed that Hermione's eyes were swollen and bloodshot. 

Harry forced his mouth open; it felt as though his jaws had been fused together.

"What happened?"  He asked in a hoarse whisper that tore at his throat.  He winced and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before opening them once more.  This time, it was Dumbledore's face that hovered over him, looking worried.

"It seems you collapsed in Potions, Harry.  Do you remember anything?"

Harry thought for a moment.  Snape had been insulting him and Heather, then Harry's scar had started to hurt – nearly as much as it had last spring when Voldemort came back.  Voldemort…  Harry's scar only hurt when Voldemort was feeling particularly murderous; something bad was definitely going on.  He thought he'd gotten a flash of Dementors as he passed out, but it might have just been his imagination.

"My scar…" He managed.  "Voldemort's up to something…"

Dumbledore nodded, looking grave.  "I thought as much.  Do you have any idea what?"

"Maybe you should ask Snape."  A thin, pained whisper came from behind them.  Everyone jerked around to see Heather struggling to sit up.  With Hermione's help, she managed to get her shoulders propped against her pillows and gave them all a small smile.  Smiling was the last thing Harry felt like doing, and what was this about Snape?  

"It didn't look like he was doing so well.  That's all I remember before I fell…" Heather trailed off and cleared her throat, stubbornly trying to get her voice back.

"He's doing better than you two."  Dumbledore said with a small sigh.  "It seems Voldemort is doing something particularly nasty.  Sending out the call to all of his followers, and you were both affected…"

"How?"  Harry croaked suddenly.  "How was Heather affected?"

Four pairs of eyes turned to Professor Dumbledore, who seemed to be thinking.

"It had something to do with my scar."  Heather said in a voice that creaked and broke at every word.  "It's hurt before, I told you at the beginning of the year-"

"What scar?"  Harry and Ron demanded simultaneously.  

Heather rubbed at her forehead for a moment, then turned and showed them all a thin, lightning bolt scar that started at her hairline and stabbed downwards.

Harry gulped painfully.  That scar was exactly like his – right down to the very last bend.

"It has nothing to do with your scar."  Dumbledore said firmly, recapturing all their attention.  "Harry's scar is a curse scar from Voldemort – it's a connection between the two of them.  Yours is from when you fell down as a child."

"But, sir, they're just the same-" Ron started, but Dumbledore cut across him.

"Coincidence."  He pronounced, the tone of his voice leaving no room for doubts.  "Heather has thought she was getting pains in her scar all these years, when really, it was just pains in her head.  And I think it is now clear why Voldemort sent Peter Pettegrew to New York to fetch her back to him."

Everyone was watching the headmaster, holding their breaths.  Then-

"It seems you have great Divining powers, Heather.  You see terrible events that will happen or are happening right now.  It is apparently an innate ability, and is very rare and much sought after.  Voldemort would be a fool not to want someone with your power on his side."

There was a pause, then Heather scowled darkly.  "I would never go to his side."  She croaked out firmly.  Dumbledore smiled kindly.

"I want you two to spend the night in the hospital wing, then, if you feel well enough, you can attend classes tomorrow.  Oh, and an announcement was made at dinner this evening that you missed: there will be no potions classes for the rest of the week.  Professor Snape has been called away and won't return until next Monday.  Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger - just a few more minutes and then I want you back in Gryffindor tower.  It's past curfew."  With a final nod, Professor Dumbledore exited the room and closed the hospital wing door behind him.

They talked for a while – about the revelation involving Heather and what Voldemort might be up to.  Finally, Madam Pomfrey came in and gasped.  "Mr. Weasley!  Miss Granger!  Curfew was twenty minutes ago!  Go on, get back to your dormitory!  Yes, I'll take care of Mr. Potter and Miss Evans, now go!"

Ron and Hermione waved once more at Harry and Heather before Madam Pomfrey shooed them out the door.

The pair was halfway back to Gryffindor Tower when they heard muffled voices up ahead, rapidly drawing nearer.  Suddenly realizing that one of the voices was Snape and that they didn't have permission to be out of bed, Ron grabbed Hermione and pulled her behind a large statue of a toothless wizard.  He was just in time, for at that moment Snape and Bassett rounded a corner and started striding down the corridor.

"Are you sure?"  Snape was asking sharply, sounding none too pleased.

"Yes, that's what the elf said – a week from this Wednesday, before dinner.  You'll be there, then?"  Bassett asked anxiously.

Snape rounded on him, looking thoroughly annoyed.  "Jonathon, you should be able to handle this on your own.  The job was assigned to you, and if you can't complete it properly, I don't see why I should concern myself with the matter."

"Well - I just thought --- don't you want…?"  Bassett sputtered, looking affronted.  "I just thought you'd want to get some of the credit.  You've aided me so far with mixing the potions, and it would only be fair if I shared the prestige with you."

"Jonathon," Snape started icily, "I think you will soon discover that fairness is rarely rewarded in your new line of work.  Besides, I have other, more pressing matters to attend to.  Good night."  There was finality in Snape's voice as he strode away from Professor Bassett, who stood quite still for a moment.  Bassett then turned jerkily and walked off in the other direction, muttering angrily to himself.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a startled glance.

"A week from Wednesday?"  Heather repeated, eyebrows raised.  "Are you _sure_?"  It was the next day after classes and Heather and Harry, who looked and sounded much better than they had yesterday, were listening to Ron and Hermione tell what they'd heard the night before.

"Positive."  Ron replied, nodding grimly.

"So then Snape _is_ involved, after all!"  Harry said, disgust in is voice.  "We should never have given him the benefit of the doubt.  They're both working for Voldemort, then, and I'll bet that thing Snape was called away on has something to do with whatever Voldemort was doing yesterday."

"And whatever it is wasn't mentioned in the _Daily Prophet_ this morning."  Hermione pointed out.  "So either it wasn't as big as we thought, or he was just planning something that he's _going_ to do later on."

"Well, whatever it is, I'd say what Bassett's planning is a little more pressing."  Heather said firmly.  "We've got to be in the kitchens on Wednesday and see what's going on, otherwise…"

She didn't need to finish.  They all knew what would happen if they didn't stop it.  

"Bassett said 'before dinner'."  Ron stated.  "If we get there right after classes and hide, we can watch for Bassett and when he comes..."  

They all nodded and clutched their wands a bit tighter.  They knew what they had to do.

The next week passed quickly, and it was quite a relief not to have Potions for the majority of it.  The story about what happened in the dungeons didn't spread very far – it seemed everyone who had witnessed it found the entire event too disturbing to discuss openly.  Malfoy and the other Slytherins seemed awfully keen to avoid Harry and Heather all of a sudden, something that confused them until Seamus said he'd overheard two second year Slytherins whispering about how two Gryffindors had cast the Cuciatus Curse on Professor Snape, and would do the same to anyone who upset them.

Harry, for one, did nothing to set them straight.  

It was now reaching the end of March and the weather was becoming warmer and warmer as the last remaining bits of snow disappeared and buds started to form on the trees.  It was perfect Quidditch weather, something the Gryffindor team managed to take full advantage of.  Heather had taken to sitting in the stands and watching the team's practice while she did her homework, and was often accompanied by Ron and Hermione.

Somehow, they all made it through Wednesday's classes, although none of them could remember any of their lessons afterwards.  As soon as they were dismissed from their last class - which seemed to last three hours instead of one and a half, the four hurried across the Entrance Hall and down a small flight of stairs into a cheerfully lit stone corridor filled with paintings of food.  Looking around apprehensively, Harry reached out to a painting of fruit and tickled the large green pear in the center of it.  The pear wriggled, then gave a high pitched giggle before turning into a green door handle, which Harry tugged open.  

Then they were all tumbling through the portrait hole and quickly ducking behind some barrels in a corner of the huge kitchens.  Unfortunately, they had been too slow.  Several house elves came over to investigate, poking their long green noses over the barrels and peering down at them curiously with their bulbous eyes.

"Oh.  Hello."  Harry said awkwardly, as he straightened up.  His friends behind him followed his example, looking equally uncomfortable.  "We were just, um…" Harry began to stumble over an explanation, but the three house elves he was speaking to didn't seem to notice.  They turned abruptly and walked away, back towards the gigantic fireplace and the jobs they had left, without uttering a word.

Confused, Harry glanced at his friends, and then trailed along after the house elves nervously.

"Harry, look!"  Ron whispered to his friend urgently, pointing to a house elf that was standing a short distance away, chopping vegetables and wearing mismatched socks.

"Dobby?"  Harry called, dashing over to the elf.  "Dobby, what's wrong with those-" Harry broke off as Dobby gazed at him without a trace of recognition, and then turned back to the carrot he was dicing.  The elf hadn't even blinked.

"It must be something to do with the potion."  Hermione said, looking nervously around at the zombie-like elves.  She had to speak loudly to be heard over the clanging of pots and the roaring of the huge fire, as the evening meal was prepared.

"Oh, shi-" Heather began, but the rest of what she was going to say was cut off by a particularly loud clang of metal, which, Harry reflected later, was probably for the best.

He and Ron whirled around to see Professor Bassett standing in front of the open portrait hole, staring at them with a look of mingled anger, surprise and triumph.

"I KNEW IT!"  Bassett and Ron bellowed together.

All five people pulled out their wands angrily, pointing them across the kitchen and over the heads of house elves and several heaps of skinned potatoes.  Bassett seemed to notice that he was badly outnumbered, but stood his ground, looking determined.

"I'll bet you wish you had Snape here to help you now!"  Ron had to shout to make himself heard.  

"You'll never get away with this!"  Bassett replied loudly.  The house elves continued blindly about their noisy work, as though violent squabbles breaking out between teachers and students were an every day occurrence in the kitchens.

"You should have known that we'd put a stop to your plans!"  Hermione called out bravely, wand trained on Bassett.

"Well, if you think your fame can save you now, Potter, you're sadly mistaken!"  Bassett cried, gripping his wand tighter.

"I don't need to be famous to be able to stop you!"  Harry retorted furiously.  "Just a tip, Bassett – next time you have some sort of diabolical plot, don't go talking about it in the halls, where anyone can hear!  It tends to make the end a bit less triumphant!"

"You think just because Dumbledore favors you four so much, he won't let you be punished?  It's Azkaban for you, unless I'm much mistaken, and you'll have quite a bit of time to brood on your mistakes while you're there!"  Bassett yelled, a mad glint in his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm sure you'll be really cozy with all those Dementors!"  Heather shouted back.  

"That'll be justice!"  Bassett roared.  "I must admit, Potter – you and your friends are the last ones I'd expect to be working for You-Know-Who!  Although, I suppose that was the beauty of your plan!"

"What's the matter?"  Harry taunted angrily.  "Afraid of your Master's name?"

All five of them paused suddenly, thinking over what they'd just heard.

"Wait a minute-" Heather started.

"WHAT?"  Everyone demanded of each other at once.

"Who are you?"  Hermione asked Bassett, looking puzzled.

The man drew himself up proudly.  "Jonathon Bassett, Anti-Dark Arts Department, Ministry of Magic."  He announced.  "Who are you?"  He asked suspiciously.

"Exactly who we say we are."  Ron retorted, still looking angry.

"Wait…you didn't think that …that _we_ were the ones poisoning the house elves, did you?"  Heather asked suddenly.

"Well, yes."  Bassett replied, looking dubious.  "You're not?"

"NO!"  Hermione shouted, looking greatly annoyed.  "We thought it was _you_!"

"Certainly not!"  Bassett cried indignantly.  Harry was reminded strongly of Percy Weasley.  

"Well, if it's not you…" Harry started uncomfortably.

"And it's not you…" Bassett trailed off, looking nervous.

"Then it must be me."  A cold voice finished.

Everyone whipped around to see a tall, thin, stringy sort of man with short, curly brown hair and a fair few warts on his face.  Heather couldn't help thinking he looked quite a bit like Ronald McDonald, and not in a good way.

"Professor Veneficus?"  Hermione gasped in horror and disbelief.

Professor Veneficus gave them all a thin, humorless smile.  "Not at all."  He replied coolly.  "My name is Frederick Terhune.  And I believe I'm the one you're all looking for."

"You-" Bassett began angrily, starting towards the other man.

"Stupify!"  Terhune cried.  Bassett had barely taken two steps before he lay crumpled on the floor.  Terhune's face twitched oddly.  "I'll deal with the Ministry official later."  He said with a frightening grin as he rounded on the four students.

"How-" Heather began, eyes wide.

"Polyjuice Potion."  Terhune stated simply.  "A fabulous concoction.  Although somewhat unpleasant to take…" His face twitched again.  "But it served me well, right up until the end.  And after I poison Dumbledore tonight, I won't ever need to hide again!  My Master will be grateful – I believe I'll soon be a very powerful man."

"You won't get away with this!"  Ron shouted.  Even now, the elves just kept right along working as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

"I don't believe you have a say in the matter."  The tall man said coldly.  He raised his wand and pointed it at Ron, but before he could do anything, Hermione had her wand up and was shouting-

"Stupify!"  Terhune dodged the spell, cursing, but by the time he had straightened up, the four students were nowhere in sight.

A deranged glint in his eye, Terhune started creeping slowly through the kitchen, whistling to himself.  "Come out, come out, wherever you are!"  He called in a sing-songy voice that sent chills up Harry's spine.

"Okay," Harry whispered to Ron as they hid near a pile of flour sacks, "I'll distract him, you finish him off."

Ron nodded, looking very nervous.  Harry looked up and prepared to stand, but Professor Veneficus' face, not a comforting sight on the best of occasions, appeared over him, grinning terribly.  Harry gave a cry of surprise.  Quite suddenly, Terhune jumped back with a shout of his own – Ron had shot red sparks into his face, then he and Harry were bolting off, trying to find a better hiding spot before the Death Eater pulled himself together.

Harry heard the man shout something and a curse zoomed past his ear, leaving a scorch mark where it hit the wall.  Harry dove to one side, Ron dove to the other, both of them hiding behind large objects.  Harry heard Ron shuffling speedily away, but he found himself backed into a tight corner.  Things were beginning to look desperate…

Terhune's footsteps were getting closer and closer to Harry's hiding place.  Cowering there next to a box of what appeared to be apricots, Harry couldn't help feeling as though he were trapped in one of those dreadful American horror movies that Dudley liked so much.  The main character would always insist on hiding in the most obvious spot while the killer stalked slowly closer, carrying a large butcher's knife, or something of the sort.  For the first time, Harry felt himself empathizing with the victims in the movies.  

Terhune's shadow fell across him and Harry looked up into his triumphant face, which was looking less and less like Professor Veneficus.  Before Terhune could even raise his wand, Harry was shouting, "Expelliarmus!"

The Death Eater's expression clouded as his wand shot out of his hand and rolled underneath a table several meters away.  Before he or Harry could make a move towards it, however, Ron leapt out from behind a small set of cupboards and jumped onto the man's back, arms wrapped tightly around his neck.  Terhune bellowed like an angry hippo and staggered around, trying to shake Ron off.  As Harry scrambled forwards to snatch up the lost wand, he noticed that the Death Eater's hair was definitely blond now, and the warts were vanishing one after another.  The Polyjuice Potion seemed to be wearing off.  

Harry finally grabbed the wand, straightened up and turned just in time to see Ron go flying and crack his head painfully on a table edge before falling into an unconscious heap.  Terhune turned to face Harry, the manic grin back in place.  Harry kept both wands pointing directly at the man.  

"_Petrificus-_" Harry began the petrifying spell, but before he could finish, Terhune pulled out yet another wand.  "That's not fair!"  Harry cried, indignantly.  The next thing he knew, his sleeve had burst into flames and he only had room in his mind for one thought: where were Heather and Hermione?

"What do we do?"  Hermione whispered frantically to no one in particular.  She and Heather winced as they watched Harry shove his arm into a bucket of water while Terhune laughed sadistically.  

"I don't know but that second wand thing was totally un-cool."  Heather hissed angrily.

"One's probably his and the other is Professor Veneficus'."  How Hermione managed sensible thought at a time like this was beyond Heather.  "Oh, Heather, I do hope Terhune hasn't hurt Professor Veneficus too badly."  

Heather wasn't sure how to respond to that, especially since she was pretty sure Professor Veneficus was dead.  She was saved from answering as the Death Eater, who now looked only vaguely like Ronald McDonald, fell to the floor with a muffled scream – it seemed Ron had regained consciousness and had kicked the tall man's feet out from under him.  Ron and Harry both scrambled to their feet and stood together, four wands now pointed at Terhune; Ron had obviously grabbed the Death Eater's extra one.  

"Ok, I've got a plan."  Heather whispered to her friend.

"Oh, thank goodness!  What is it?"  Hermione hissed back, eagerly.

Heather paused.  "Uh…it involves lots of improv.  You stay here; that way, if something goes wrong you can bail us out."

Hermione didn't look thrilled by this new plan, but Heather had already deposited her back pack next to Hermione's on the floor by the table and was hurrying away, bent in half so she couldn't be spotted.  Hermione's heart leapt as she noticed the house elves were placing platters of food on the long wooden tables, which were set directly below the house tables upstairs.  Dinner time was approaching – and Terhune's time was running out.  Looking around at the arrangement, Hermione realized she was crouched by the High Table.  As long as they could keep Terhune away from Dumbledore's seat, they should be fine…

Harry stood next to Ron, keeping his two wands pointed at the thin man in front of him, who was standing up slowly, his insane grin slightly less cheerful.

"It's over, Terhune."  Harry said loudly, sounding braver than he felt.

The deranged Death Eater eyed them narrowly.  

"Yeah – yeah, that's right."  Ron said, shaking his head sharply in an attempt to clear it, making him sway in place.  He'd been knocked a bit silly when he hit his head, and Harry suspected he might have a mild concussion.  

"Unless you've got another wand stashed away somewhere…" Harry began, stalling for time.  He noticed the house elves were finished putting food on the tables – just one more second and the immediate danger would be over…yes!  

"There."  Harry said triumphantly, looking at Terhune.  "They've sent the food up.  I guess you'll have a hard time poisoning Dumbledore now that your cover's blown."

Far from the distressed look Harry had been hoping for, Terhune started to laugh.  Harry exchanged an apprehensive look with Ron before the man in front of them spoke up.

"You're fools!"  He announced.  "Do you really think I came down here to put the poison in the food myself?  The elves did it!  Those were their orders!  I simply came down to supervise and make sure that the food went up without trouble."  He laughed at the dawning horror on Harry and Ron's faces.  "All this time you thought you were stalling me, but really it was reversed – _I_ was stalling _you_!  And I succeeded!  Dumbledore will be dead with in the hour!"

Harry stood, horrified.  He could hear a sort of odd rushing in his ears, and Ron, already dizzy, stumbled forward.  Before Harry could grab him, Terhune had his friend by the throat and had both the wands Ron had held pointed directly at Ron's chest.  He'd stopped laughing.

"Don't move, boy."  He hissed, and Harry wasn't sure which one of them the man was talking to.  "Move an inch and I'll-"

WHACK!

Heather had snuck up unnoticed behind Terhune with a large frying pan and had just smacked him round the head with it.  Terhune dropped Ron and the wands, crumpling into a heap.  

"Oops.  Sorry."  Heather said sarcastically to the unconscious Death Eater.

The triumph of the moment was lost as Harry's thoughts turned to Dumbledore.  He had no idea what was going on – he could be eating the poisoned food right now-

Harry bent down and pulled Ron to his feet.  "We've got to run and warn Dumbledore, now!"  Harry shouted to his friends, panic rising.  Hermione hurried out from behind a table, carrying both her and Heather's back packs and eyeing Terhune with the utmost contempt.  

"Come on-" Heather took hold of Ron's other arm and started helping him to the portrait hole while Harry sprinted ahead.  He had to get to Dumbledore before he ate the food – if Dumbledore died, Voldemort would take over, there would be no one to stop him.  

A sick fear had clutched at all four of them, so when they saw the portrait hole swing open and Dumbledore climb through, for a moment they all thought they'd lost their wits.

Then Hermione gave a gleeful cry, "It WORKED!"

Mystified, Harry, Heather and Ron turned towards Dumbledore.  Smiling slightly, he held up a note written in impossibly neat script on a scrap of parchment.

Professor Dumbledore – We've got the poisoner down in the kitchens; don't let anyone eat the food and please, please hurry!! 

_Yours Respectfully, _

Hermione Granger             Ten minutes later, Harry found himself in Professor Dumbledore's office, sitting next to Heather, Hermione, and Ron, who was being checked over by Madam Pomfrey.  Bassett was standing off to the side, looking extremely sheepish and Terhune, who had now turned completely back into himself, lay unconscious and tied up on the floor.  Dumbledore had brought them all up there before quickly excusing himself to make an announcement to the school and send them back to their dormitories, check on the house elves to see if they could be trusted to send some food up to the house common rooms, and send word to some friends to start looking for the real Professor Veneficus.  

                Madam Pomfrey straightened up and patted Ron's shoulder.  "No concussion, just a sound knock to the head.  You'll want something for that headache, but no need to go to the hospital wing."  She smiled at them all.  "I believe this is the first year one of you three hasn't ended up in the hospital wing after one of your little adventures.  You'll need some good rest tonight, Mr. Weasley."  With that, she turned and walked out.

            "Ok, here's something I don't get."  Heather said to Bassett as Harry shot a worried glance at Ron.  "You actually thought _we_ were the bad guys?  How random is that?"

            Bassett's embarrassment seemed to increase.  "It wasn't random!  I decided that the perpetrator had to be someone new to the school.  Miss Evans, you and I are the only new people here.  I didn't really factor in the idea of Polyjuice Potion."  He was avoiding their eyes.  "There were a few others I also suspected – people with ties to You-Know-Who…" He trailed off, and Harry could see they wouldn't get any more out of him on the topic.  "Besides," Bassett went on, defensively, "you four were always sneaking about in the kitchens, and according to Professor Snape, you three" he gestured at Harry, Ron, and Hermione "have a history of making trouble.  He feels that Dumbledore is too lenient with you, and you're likely suspects in any situation."

            Hermione 'tsk'ed, clearly annoyed.  "You'll want to get less biased opinions from now on if you ever want to make it as a Ministry official."  She informed him sharply.  Bassett blushed, looking abashed.

            "Oh, yes, Hermione's very professional about these things."  Ron said wisely as Bassett looked at his hands.  "Like that note she sent to Dumbledore with the food.  'Respectfully Yours, Hermione Granger.'"  Ron quoted, rolling his eyes.  "Honestly, Hermione, you're sending the man a death warning and you sign it 'respectfully yours'?"

            Hermione gave him a cross look.  "Well, it certainly helped didn't it?  Just think what would have happened if I _hadn't_ stuck that note in with the food!"

            They all stopped.  None of them wanted to think would have happened if Hermione hadn't done what she did.

            "How did you know the food was already poisoned?"  Heather asked, trying to break up the mood that had settled over the room.  They had come very close to the unspeakable tonight.  Closer than any of them wanted to admit. 

            Hermione shrugged.  "I didn't.  I was just sitting there, watching you three take on Terhune, and wishing I could get a message to Dumbledore.  Then I realized that the food being set out right in front of me was about t be sent to him, and I had two bags full of parchment and ink right by my feet.  Anyone would've done it, really."

            Harry shook his head.  "Not anyone."  He corrected.  "You saved the day, Hermione, that's for sure."  Hermione blushed, pleased.

            Just then, Dumbledore entered the room looking surprisingly calm, considering he'd nearly been murdered less than a quarter of an hour ago.

            "Well, Jonathon," Dumbledore said with a sigh, "It looks as though your work here is done.  Some other Ministry agents are on their way to help you transport Terhune."  

            Bassett bowed politely, although he still looked slightly embarrassed, and started to levitate Terhune towards the door.  On the threshold of Dumbledore's office, he hesitated and turned.

            "Er-Sir?"  He began, addressing Professor Dumbledore.

            "Yes, Jonathon?"  Dumbledore replied kindly.

            "I would…suggest…th-that you don't be too hard on these children.  A-after all, they did help a _bit_, and I am a firm believer in giving thanks where thanks is due."  He looked very pompous as he said this.

            Ron scowled and opened his mouth to speak but Harry kicked him and shook his head warningly.  Ron's frown deepened, but he kept his silence.

            "I will take that suggestion into account."  Dumbledore replied, eyes twinkling.

            Bassett bowed once more and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

            As the remaining people in the room took their seats, Harry heard Ron mutter something that sounded suspiciously like 'worse than Percy', but he couldn't be sure.

            "Well, as your 'punishment', I think I'll award Gryffindor House fifty points."  Dumbledore announced, smiling.

            They all gaped at him.  "You don't believe Professor Bassett's story?"  Heather asked, looking delighted.

            Dumbledore chucked.  "Once I got the house elves to talk sense, they all seemed to confirm your version of events.  I must say I am very impressed."  Dumbledore peered down his crocked nose at them fondly.  "And none of you for the hospital wing, eh?  That's a change for you three!"

            Harry grinned, then thought of something.  "Er-Professor Dumbledore?  Why was Bassett here in the first place?"

            "Apparently the Ministry got an anonymous tip that a rogue Death Eater was at Hogwarts, planning to kill me."

            "A _rogue_ Death Eater?"  Hermione asked, looking puzzled.

            "Yes."  Replied Dumbledore, sighing heavily.  "It seemed Terhune wasn't acting on Voldemort's orders, and the Ministry is unsure if he was ever even an official Death Eater.  He's…a bit mad, actually."

            Heather snorted.  "Big shocker…" She muttered to herself.

            Dumbledore's mustache quivered and there was laughter in his eyes.  "Well, you four had better get back to your dormitories.  There should be some dinner in your common room.  Good show, all of you."

            They all smiled and headed out of the office, down the moving staircase, and towards Gryffindor tower.

            "Looks like we finally get a quiet year after all."  Ron said, looking pleased.

            Harry shot him a look.

            "Relatively speaking."  Ron added with a small smile.

Well, I hope you all liked this section!  If not, the next part (which I have been planning out in my head for nearly two years – honestly) will certainly make up for it.  I hope you liked this (enough to write a review, anyway – and constructive criticism is always welcome).              Now, look, I actually have a thank you to write!  I'm almost like a real author now!   ; )

**       kitkat: Thanks for the great idea of Hermione seeing Heather's scar!  I wanted to do something like that, but I couldn't figure out how until you gave me this idea in your review.  I hope you like the way I did it! **

**I don't know exactly when the exciting conclusion will be written and posted, but if you review and leave your e-mail address, I'll send you a notice when it is!  As a wise person once said, 'Reviewing helps your karma!'  Happy New Year, everyone!**

**                       ~A.P.**


	6. Revelations

A/N: Here it is, at last!  The exciting conclusion!  All the answers you've been waiting for revealed!  And I wrote it in just a week!  I amaze even myself sometimes…

DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognize belongs to someone else.  Yes, even Oz from Buffy. (sighs) How sad is that?  I'm not making any money (at all.  ever.)  Wish I were. J

            With the immediate danger involving Dumbledore gone, Harry, Heather, Hermione and Ron were able to relax a bit.  Although more reports of Death Eater attacks were constantly coming in, there was also a report of a group of wizards having a skirmish with some of Voldemort's followers.  In this incident, the Death Eaters had most definitely come off worse, and all seven of them were sent to the Ministry to be put on trial.  Harry strongly suspected that the 'group of wizards' had really been Sirius, Remus, and the rest of the Order of the Phoenix.  But whoever they were, their victory put everyone in very high spirits.

            Indeed, Dumbledore seemed so pleased by the news that he granted the school their first Hogsmeade weekend of the year.  The four friends awaited this trip with great excitement, Heather especially.  She'd been hearing stories about the many wonders of Hogsmeade all year from Harry, Hermione, Ron, and, of course, Fred and George.  Their good moods were dampened only when Hermione pointed out that McGonagall might not let Heather go, since she had no signed permission slip.  Very luckily, the Professor said they could bend the rules 'just this once'.

            "She never bent the rules for _me_ when I didn't have a signed permission slip," Harry said, frowning as they stepped out of the carriage that had carried them to the little town.

            "Yes, well, Heather doesn't have a convicted murderer after her, does she?" Hermione replied crisply.

            Personally, Harry thought that Voldemort counted as a convicted murderer, certainly more so than Sirius Black, but he held his tongue.  He hadn't been to Hogsmeade in ages, and he couldn't wait to visit-

            "Honeydukes," Ron proclaimed to Heather in a booming voice, gesturing grandly to the store front they had stopped near, "there's not a single sweet you can think of that you can't find here!  Come on - you have to see the special effects sweets!"

            Weeks passed by and things remained relatively cheerful at Hogwarts.  Flowers were blooming, the sun was shining, and Easter holidays were fast approaching.  True to form, however, the students were so loaded down with work that the Easter holidays weren't much of a break at all, although the workload was a bit lighter for everyone now that Defense classes had been cancelled.

            Once Easter was over, there was little room in anyone's mind for anything other than the upcoming Quidditch Final between Gryffindor and Slytherin.  It wasn't a secret that many of the Slytherins supported Voldemort, and most had Death Eaters in their families.  

The other three houses seemed to take this personally; particularly those who had lost loved ones to Voldemort in the past.  There were many small skirmishes in the halls, resulting in several students ending up in the Hospital Wing covered in nasty hexes.  

Lavender Brown actually kicked a Slytherin who tripped her on the way to lunch one afternoon, and Heather 'accidentally' spilled Freezing Potion all over Malfoy's lap in Potions after he had been insulting Neville's parents, losing Gryffindor 40 points.  No one seemed to care, especially since Malfoy walked with a slight limp for the rest of the week.  

Harry saw Cho Chang several times in the halls, and she seemed to be pointedly avoiding any and all Slytherins.  He couldn't help wondering if one of them had said something to her about Cedric Diggory, and he found himself desperately hoping that they hadn't.  

It all came to a head when Justin Finch-Fletchy and Ernie McMillan got into a fistfight with Jocrian Avery and Fredric Nott in the Entrance Hall for loudly asking Susan Bones if she'd seen her parents lately.

No one could remember a Quidditch Final ever arriving in such a passionate atmosphere, and the Gryffindor team was tense, to say the least.  They practiced nearly every day for several hours, and went to bed at night exhausted, only to get up the next day to do it all over again.  The students from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw had taken to standing up whenever a Gryffindor Quidditch player walked into a room, something Fred and George enjoyed immensely, but Harry found slightly embarrassing.  

The morning of the match, Angelina led the team into the Great Hall for breakfast.  Three-fourths of the school leapt to their feet and started cheering and clapping, drowning out the hisses and boos that echoed from the Slytherin Table.  Angelina gave everyone a weak smile, then turned to her team.

"Anyone hungry?" she asked, voice tight.  They all shook their heads.  Indeed, Harry felt like his stomach was already full of something very wriggly, and his face and neck were clammy.  

"Right then," Angelina said, leading them out of the Hall, "changing rooms."  The Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw tables jumped up once more to salute them out.

As he was about to enter the changing room by the Quidditch Pitch, Harry heard his name being called.  As soon as he'd turned, he felt himself being clutched into a tight hug.

"Good luck, Harry!" Hermione said, voice muffled against his chest.  Startled and a bit embarrassed, Harry grinned at Hermione as she pulled away.

"Thanks," he muttered to her, coloring.

"You don't even _need_ good luck.  You'll _kill_ them!" was Heather's contribution as she gave Harry a hug of her own.

"Knock 'em dead, Harry!" was Ron.  He beamed at his friend with a mad glint in his eye, and Harry could tell that he meant his platitude very literally.

Harry gave them one last, shaky smile before following the rest of his team into the changing rooms.

After the team had changed into their uniforms, they sat and waited for Angelina to give them her warm-up speech.  For a moment, Harry thought she wouldn't be able to get it out, but finally she opened her mouth and began to speak, her voice growing stronger with each word.

"We've all been here the past week, so we all know that there's a lot riding on this game. We're not just playing this match for ourselves, or the Cup, or even just for Gryffindor anymore.  We're playing it for Hufflepuff.  We're playing it for Ravenclaw.  And we're playing for anyone who ever faced You-Know-Who…and lost."  Her eyes flicked to Harry and he felt his throat tighten.  "And also those that didn't," she paused again.  "We're not just playing a game, children – we're fighting a war, and I'll be damned if we're going to loose it!"

Fred and George jumped up, whooping madly and banging their bats together.  Harry and Ryan cheered, high-fiving each other, and Alicia, Katie, and Angelina hugged each other tightly, laughing.

"GO TEAM!" they all chanted before swooping onto the pitch amidst loud cheers.

"And it's the Gryffindor team!" Lee Jordan called into his magical megaphone in the commentator's booth, "Potter, Johnson, Bell, Spinnet, Weasley, Weasley, and Finlay!"  The stadium erupted into cheers again.  Angelina and the new Slytherin captain, Warrington, shook hands, eyeing each other coldly.  Then Madam Hooch blew her whistle and fifteen brooms shot into the air.  Harry rose above the rest and circled the pitch.  He noticed that Malfoy was up to his old games, and was marking him closely.  This was alright for now, but if Harry saw the Snitch…  He didn't want a repeat of third year, when Malfoy had actually grabbed onto Harry's broom to keep him from flying forward.  Pointedly ignoring Malfoy, Harry continued to circle, listening with half an ear to Lee's commentary.  

"And it's Gryffindor Chaser Bell in possession, heading up the pitch towards the goal – Look out, Katie! – Oh!  Nice work by Beater Fred Weasley, saving Bell from that Bludger…oh, but he missed that one-"

Harry looked down to see Katie duck under a Bludger, which just barely missed her head.  In her attempt to dodge it, she let go of the Quaffle.

"Bell drops the Quaffle – that's alright, Katie – and it's picked up by Slytherin Chaser Funnel who's heading up the pitch towards the Gryffindor goal posts…he dodges a Bludger sent his way by George Weasley…he shoots…YES!  Keeper Finley of Gryffindor saves the Quaffle, and Chaser Spinnet takes possession…Spinnet heading up the pitch, does a neat loop around Beater Derrick – she shoots…she SCORES!  YES!  Gryffindor up 10-0!"  The stands erupted in rowdy cheers again and Harry could see hundreds of red and gold flags being waved in the stands.

"Big game today, huh, Potter?" a sharp voice hissed.  Startled, Harry jerked away, only to see that Malfoy had pulled up next to him to whisper in his ear.  Harry noticed with a slight jolt that the other boy was flying a shiny new Firebolt.  Malfoy gave his typical smirk and went on.  "Pity your dad couldn't be here to see you play," he said with false sympathy, scanning the crowd with his eyes.  

Ah.  So that was the name of the game.  Well, Harry wouldn't let it get to him.  Like Angelina had said, there was a lot riding on this match, and if Malfoy had to resort to petty insults to win, Harry wouldn't lower himself to that level.

"Incidentally," Malfoy went on, smiling maliciously, "_my_ dad's here today.  Just there…" he pointed down towards the Slytherin end of the stands, but Harry didn't look.  He continued flying, not altering his pace in the least.  Malfoy, seeing that his tactics weren't working, went in for the kill.

"Wonder if your sister would've been any good at Quidditch, Potter," he mused, looking thoughtful.  Harry's jaw clenched.  "If _you're_ any indication, then it's not bloody likely!"  Harry fought the intense urge to punch Malfoy.  Earning Slytherin a penalty shot wouldn't help Gryffindor to win.  But he had to get away from Malfoy somehow.

"Nice broom, Malfoy.  Think you can handle it?"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed.  "Of course."

Harry grinned.  "Let's see, then," he said, and shot off in the direction of the Gryffindor goal posts, where Chaser Clay was also headed to take a shot on Ryan.  Harry put on an extra burst of speed, than chanced a look back at Malfoy, who was practically sitting on the back of Harry's broom.  Harry grinned, then jerked his broom suddenly upward, and did a tight, upside-down loop, making Malfoy pause, surprised, right in Clay's path.  Clay gave a shout, but it was too late for anyone to do anything.  Next moment, the two of them rammed into each other with a terrible smack and the stands erupted with applause.  Lee Jordan could be heard above it all, cackling wickedly into his magical megaphone, and Harry grinned to see Warrington screaming furiously at Malfoy.  Harry resumed his post above the game and turned his ear back to the commentary.

"And after that spectacular move by Seeker Harry Potter, Chaser Johnson reclaims the Quaffle for Gryffindor, which is ahead 30-10.  Nice work, Harry!"  Disappointed that he'd missed so much due to Malfoy's taunts, Harry forced his attention back to the match, not allowing his thoughts to drift to his family.

Back in the stands, Heather, Hermione and Ron sat back down, all still grinning broadly.

"What a move!" Ron crowed enthusiastically.

"That was incredible!" Heather agreed, beaming, "I'm suddenly struck with an overwhelming urge to cheerlead!" she added brightly.

Hermione shot her a strange look, and Heather smiled sheepishly.

"It's an ingrained habit," she explained, coloring.

"This is great!"  Dean Thomas exclaimed, leaning over the back of his seat to look at them.  "We're going to win, don't you think?"

Parvati Patil nodded in agreement.  "Malfoy couldn't find the Snitch if it were Spello-taped to his forehead!"

Their excitement might have been a bit premature.  The Slytherin team, enraged by the trick Harry had pulled, and the fact that they hadn't gotten a penalty for it, was quickly resorting to any means necessary to get ahead.

Beater Bole lobbed his club into Angelina's stomach after she made a goal, causing Lee Jordan to call him several unmentionable names, and Fred and George to hit two Bludgers at his head in rapid succession.  Alicia took the penalty shot and missed.

While Gryffindor _did_ pick up a lot of penalty shots due to Slytherin's frivolous fouling, Slytherin picked up an equal amount from Fred and George's retaliation tactics.  At one point, George even smacked Funnel in the face with his club, claiming he'd thought that Funnel's head was a Bludger.

"He's about as thick as one!"  George had reasoned desperately to Madam Hooch, who didn't want to hear it.

It was 80-70 - still in Gryffindor's favor, but not for long.  Most of Harry's teammates were bleeding freely at this point, and Harry wanted to end the game before one of them was badly hurt.

It happened quite suddenly.  Angelina, who still looked rather winded, was lining up to take a penalty shot, when Harry saw it – the Snitch – fluttering about by Bole's left knee.  Leaning forward on his Firebolt, Harry shot toward Bole as fast as he could.

The Slytherin, realizing what Harry was coming for, swung his club at the Snitch, missed, and moved out of the way just in time to avoid a collision with Harry, who leaned forward, eyes intent on…Malfoy?

Malfoy had pulled his broom level with Harry's.  He didn't seem quite used to the speed of it, however, and was wobbling a bit.  Harry stretched out his arm to grab the Snitch…Malfoy elbowed Harry hard in the ribs, and kicked his broom, forcing Harry to put both hands on the handle of his broom to get it back under control.  Malfoy was going to get the Snitch!

Then Malfoy jerked his head to the left as the Snitch zoomed right past his ear.  Harry yanked his broom sharply to the side to follow it as it shot straight for the ground and Malfoy tried desperately to keep up.  There were gasps and shrieks from the crowd as Harry plummeted towards the green grass of the pitch; they were only feet away from the ground; Malfoy was pulling up to avoid a collision; the Snitch was inches away – centimeters – yes!  He could feel his hand close around it, it's smooth, golden surface cool against his palm, its fluttering silver wings beating uselessly against his hand.  Harry wrenched his broom up less than a second before impact with the pitch and toppled gently onto the soft earth, and he was strongly reminded of the Remembrall incident at his first flying lesson.

Then the stands exploded with sound as hundreds of Gryffindor supporters started applauding, cheering, and screaming themselves hoarse at the same time.

"YES!  YES!!!  Harry Potter gets the Snitch!  230-70!  Gryffindor wins the Cup!!" Lee Jordan yelled into his megaphone.

Harry's teammates were landing on the pitch around him, hugging him, pulling him to his feet, slapping him on the back…  

Then people were streaming out of the stands, they were cheering, hoisting the team onto their shoulders…a fair few people were in tears…and everyone was smiling.  Harry caught sight of Ron, Hermione, and Heather, all beaming, before the Quidditch Cup was forced into his hands and he held it up, laughing with the rest of his team.

The Ravenclaws' and Hufflepuffs' delight at Gryffindor defeating Slytherin lasted at least two weeks, and the Gryffindors' lasted about twice as long.  Everyone was constantly congratulating the team, and Angelina didn't seem to be able to stop smiling.  Harry was in very high spirits, especially since Cho Chang had come up to him in the Great Hall after dinner one night to smile at him and tell him that he'd done a fantastic job.  

Hermione was forcing them all to start revising for the OWLs, naturally, but Harry found that he didn't mind at all.  It turned out that Heather's studying tactics were much more helpful to him than Hermione's.  She made up strange little rhymes to remember certain charms and plants, and even dates and names for H of M class.  Although he wasn't looking forward to the OWLs, Harry certainly could say that he now felt prepared for them, and expected to get pretty good marks.  By the time May had drawn to a close, Harry was sure he couldn't have been happier.

That was when the nightmares came back.

He saw scores of people being mowed down by Voldemort's merciless servants.  And all of them were crying his name – no – they were _cursing_ his name.  He was the one who was supposed to have saved them, but he hadn't.  He'd been too weak, to slow, too frightened to do what he should have.  And his parents…his parents were so ashamed of him…

"Come on, Harry," Ron wheedled.  "A bit of food will do you good!"

"No…you go.  I'm not hungry…"

"Harry-" Hermione started, but Ron cut her off.

"We'll bring you back something, then."  Harry nodded vaguely.

"Baked potato?" Heather asked timidly, remembering potatoes were his favorite.  Harry managed a smile.

"Sure.  Thanks."

Heather smiled brightly at him before following Ron and Hermione out of the portrait hole.

"I wonder what's up with Harry," Ron said, frowning in a concerned way as the trio headed down a spiral staircase.

"It's only a natural reaction," Hermione said briskly, "His emotions were really high for the Quidditch match – he was thrilled for weeks after they won…practically bouncing off the walls!  He could barely sit still for more than two seconds!"

"Yeah, I remember," Ron muttered, "I thought I was going to have to kill him."

"Well, then it's only natural that he should come down hard from it," Hermione continued, ignoring Ron's interruption.  "He'll balance out eventually."

"I don't know, Hermione," Ron said doubtfully, "He's been having these really weird nightmares for about a week now.  You should hear some of the stuff he says in his sleep…"

"Like what?" Heather asked curiously as they entered the Great Hall.  Dumbledore's place was empty – he was gone on one of his mysterious trips once again.  Snape was back, much to their disgust, though he apparently hadn't come to dinner yet.

"Oh, I don't know…" Ron said, looking uncomfortable as they all took their seats.  "Just…stuff about You-Know-Who killing people, and it being all his fault…and his parents being disappointed in him…"

"That's horrible!" Hermione exclaimed, face pale.

Heather froze.  She'd been having that exact same sort of dream: Voldemort - for she supposed that _he_ was the dark figure from her nightmares - slaughtering dozens of innocent people, all blaming her for their terrible deaths…  And something about her parents - people she couldn't even remember - being horribly disappointed in her…

"Heather? _Heather!_" Hermione almost shouted in her friend's ear.

"What?" Heather asked, jerking out of her reverie.

"Are you alright?"

"Um…yeah.  Fine…I'm just going to take Harry his potato now, ok?  See you!" She grabbed a baked potato, pushed back from the table, and hurried out of the Hall.

Hermione and Ron watched her go, a look of confused worry on both their faces.  Finally, Ron put a voice to what they were both thinking.

"Weird."

Harry sat sullenly in front of the Common Room fire and watched his three friends exit through the portrait hole.  The room was full of activity and noise, laughter and explosions (the latter from Fred and George's newest project – 'Exploding Snap**_e_**').

Normally on a night like this, Harry would never have been able to get a seat by the fireplace, but since the Quidditch match he'd been able to get just about anything he wanted.  Oh, yes, he was such a _hero_.

Harry sighed miserably and dragged himself up out of the armchair and towards his dorm.  He wanted to be alone now more than anything.  Well, that wasn't quite true.  More than anything, he wanted to make the dreams go away.  Was he too late to save all those people?  If he wasn't, would he be able to?  And if he couldn't… if he _couldn't_… would his parents really be ashamed of him?  

The quiet darkness and solitude of Harry's dorm room was a relief after the noise of the Common Room.  Sighing again, Harry dug into his trunk and pulled out the leather photo album of his parents that Hagrid had given him at the end of first year.

Turning on his lamp, Harry flipped open the album to a picture of his parents' wedding.  There they were, laughing, waving, and completely happy.  Were they ashamed of him?  If they knew him, would they be disappointed how their son had turned out?

Harry knew it was a bit ridiculous to get so worked up over a few nightmares, but he couldn't help feeling that his dreams were more than just images from his subconscious.  They had meaning…was there something he was supposed to do?  Something he should have done…?  Something – anything - to stop all those people from dieing…

Staring at his father's laughing face, Harry suddenly got the awful feeling that his dad was laughing at _him_.  Unable to look at the picture any longer, Harry flipped to the next page to see…

Heather.

Harry blinked and rubbed his eyes under his glasses, then looked again.  The image hadn't changed.  The picture showed a group of teenagers standing in front of the Hogwarts Express, which was chugging silently in the background.  People milled around Platform 9 ¾, and cats of all colors and sizes twined between their legs.  But the girl in the picture – wearing Heather's Christmas necklace and standing next to the boy that looked just like him – it was Heather.  It was Heather, except with bright green eyes.

Harry felt like his brain was going in fast forward.  All the times he'd thought Heather had looked strangely familiar…_she had_.  In Potions, when they'd both collapsed…and afterwards, Dumbledore's explanation that Heather was a Diviner…_a lie_.  Heather had felt the same pain, seen the same images for the same exact reason that he had: she had a curse scar that linked her to Voldemort.  Voldemort had sent Peter Pettegrew to New York for Heather because she was a Potter, and because she, too, had defeated him.  Heather Evans was Heather Potter – his twin sister.  She was alive.  She was alive and he'd been living in the same castle with her for a year and hadn't even known it.  

Something very painful was going on inside of Harry's chest.  His sister, who he'd wanted to see so badly for so long…well, he'd already seen her.  He'd already met her.  He felt like he'd lost something very important to him, but at the same time like he'd gained something else.  A new life.  A better one.

But there was only one way to be sure.  Harry cast one last glance at his mother's face, by now so familiar to him, before slamming the album shut.  He ripped open his trunk again and rummaged through it – under his Transfiguration book, under the Invisibility Cloak…there it was.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he said, surprised how unsteady his voice was.  Lines of ink spread elegantly across the piece of weathered and creased parchment.  Harry waited impatiently for the Map to finish.

He squinted along the corridors and passageways, peered into the Great Hall…there!  There she was, just outside the Great Hall, right near two dots labeled 'Minerva McGonagall' and 'Severus Snape': a tiny black dot labeled 'Heather Potter'.

Heather honestly didn't know what she was doing.  She just had to speak with Harry.  She didn't even know what she was planning to say to him.  Maybe the fact that they were having the same dreams was coincidence.  But maybe it was also time to come clean about the other things she'd been hiding – that she could talk to snakes, and that she didn't quite believe Dumbledore's whole 'Heather the Amazing Diviner' story.

"Will you keep your voice down, Severus?" an angry voice hissed suddenly.  Heather stopped in mid-stride and ducked behind a large, and rather alarmingly spiked, suit of armor.  Peering between two large spikes that were placed in such a way that Heather couldn't imagine the knight being able to ride a horse, she could see Professors McGonagall and Snape standing in a shadowy corner.  Both Professors glanced nervously in both directions to look for eavesdroppers before continuing their argument.

"I've said it from the start, Minerva, we have to get rid of them!" Snape whispered harshly.  "Voldemort _will_ find out that Heather Potter is here and _soon_."

Heather blinked.  Heather Potter?  Harry's sister?  Wasn't she…well…dead?

"So we should just throw the pair of them into the Forbidden Forest?" Heather had never seen anyone so angry as Professor McGonagall was right now.  She wasn't sure she wanted to hear the rest of their conversation, but she couldn't very well pop out now; she didn't want them to know that she'd heard them rowing.  _Arguing_, she corrected herself mentally with a slight smile.  Living in Britain for the past year had certainly started to change her vocabulary.  Hermione even said that she was losing her accent.  Or gaining one, depending on who you talked to.

But McGonagall wasn't done.  "Are you sure that this 'suggestion' isn't coming more from your dislike of James than your common sense?" she demanded hotly.

"I don't care _what_ you think, Minerva – it's either the two of them or all of us.  The choice is yours!"

"No, Severus.  The choice is Dumbledore's," she reminded him coldly, "And even if it weren't I would not _for one second_ even consider refusing Harry and Heather Potter asylum in this castle!  I'm shocked to hear anyone make such a suggestion!  Besides, have you _heard_ anything about an attack on the castle?" McGonagall drew the word 'heard' out in such a way that Heather was sure it implied something deeper, though she had no idea what.

"No, I haven't," Snape retorted impatiently, "But that doesn't necessarily mean that there won't be one!"

"Oh, well, I'm so glad we have someone working on the Inside!  It's really a help!" the Professor said shrilly. "Listen to me Severus - even if your ridiculous suggestion were valid – which it's not! – how do you recommend we throw Harry and Heather out of the castle without somehow mentioning that Heather Evans is really Heather Potter?  That bluff is the only thing keeping You-Know-Who from swooping down on Hogwarts, now that he has the Dementors and goodness knows how many of the giants on his side!"

The argument went on, perhaps with Snape describing exactly how he proposed they go about throwing her and Harry out of Hogwarts, but Heather had stopped listening.  Had she just heard what she thought she'd heard?  She was Heather Potter…Harry's twin, who everyone thought was dead?  It certainly explained some things, once the shock started to wear off.  But maybe she'd heard them incorrectly…

McGonagall and Snape exchanged their final words, then hurried off in separate directions, McGonagall towards the Great Hall, and Snape towards the dungeons.  Heather crept out from her hiding spot and stood dazedly in the Hall for a moment before drifting off, unsure where she was headed.  Was it really true?  She was Heather Potter?

She finally accepted it.  It explained so much… her mysterious scar that was exactly like Harry's… the flash of green light that was the only memory of her past… and Voldemort's interest in her.

Heather found that her feet had taken her back into the Great Hall for some reason.  She squinted up at the enchanted ceiling, and for the first time, being able to see the night sky through a solid stone roof seemed mundane.  She couldn't help feeling like she'd lost something…a friend…  But at the same time, she'd gained something as well.  Something better than what she was losing.  She had a brother now; she wasn't alone…

"Still nothing to report, my Lord," was the reply.  It was always the reply.  Voldemort was growing tired of it.

"When did you last check?" he demanded of the Death Eater kneeling before his throne.

"Last night, my Lord.  But-"

"Check again.  Now."

The Death Eater nodded obligingly and unrolled the scroll in his hand – a map – and began to chant over it.  After several moments, the man stopped abruptly and looked up with surprised eyes.  

"I have Located her, my Lord!" he announced, sounding pleased with himself.  Voldemort wasn't impressed.

"Well?" he snapped impatiently.

"S-she is at Hogwarts, my Lord.  With her brother."

Voldemort hissed angrily, and the Death Eater winced.  Hogwarts?  Well, he supposed that wasn't too bad…  It certainly made things quicker.  Two birds with one stone, so to speak…  He could kill the Potters and take Hogwarts all in one night.  Tonight.

"Assemble my followers!" he barked.  The Death Eater stood.  "Everyone!  Death Eaters, giants, Dementors…  Everyone we have managed to secure!  We leave for Hogwarts now!"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Heather?" a voice called.  Heather turned toward the voice to see Ron and Hermione making their way towards her.

"Heather, did you talk to him already?" Ron asked, looking a bit surprised.

"No…" Hermione answered Ron's question curiously, glancing at the bundle of napkins and the potato still in Heather's hand.  "Heather, what happened?  Are you alright?"

"Mnh…" was all she could say.

"Heather!  Heather!" a voice rang out through the Hall.  Hermione, Ron, and Heather turned to see Harry sprinting towards them.

"Heather!" he said, arriving next to her, "I've just found out – we're-"

Before he could finish, Heather threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, laughing and crying at the same time.  Far from the confused and slightly embarrassed expression Harry usually assumed when a girl hugged him, he just hugged her back, laughing along with her.  Ron and Hermione exchanged a slightly alarmed look.

"Can you believe it?" Heather exclaimed, not pulling away from her brother.

"No!  All this time and we never knew!  How did you find out?"

"McGonagall and Snape were talking…"

"They _knew_?"

"Guess so!  How did _you_ find out?"

"I was looking in my photo album!  You look exactly like Mum, you know!"

Heather's smile couldn't have gotten any bigger.  "_Really?_"

"Yeah!  And then I looked at the Map…"

"The Map!  All this time looking at it and we never noticed…"

"Yup," Harry cheerfully agreed, "we must be the stupidest people ever!"  They didn't seem at all upset by this announcement.

His face lost its smile suddenly, however, as did Heather's, as they both jerked apart and clapped a hand to their foreheads and gave startled cries of pain.  But they weren't the only ones.

A bright green light washed over them all, and people all over the Hall started to scream.  Harry and Heather looked around, then up, where people were pointing and staring in horror.  Through the enchanted ceiling, they could see the Dark Mark hovering in the night sky, making the stars and the bright half moon look washed out and pale.  Voldemort had come.

"Everyone, your attention, please!" McGonagall was shouting over the din of people scrambling out of the Hall.  "If you will all listen to me, we can handle this situation!  Prefects!  Head Boy and Girl!  With me, now!"  Teachers were hurrying among the students, forcing them to calm down and putting them into groups.

"That's me!" Hermione said frantically, "I've got to go!" She hurried towards the High Table.

"Look, Ron," Harry shouted over the noise of people yelling and shrieking, "Heather and I… Voldemort's here for us.  If we're with you, you're in danger!"

Ron paled.  "I'm not going to just leave you two-" he began stubbornly.

"No, it's ok!  Take care of Hermione!  We'll see you again soon, right?" Harry said.

Ron seemed to be struggling with himself and Heather decided to pitch in.

"Look, not to be immodest or anything, but we've taken out Voldemort once before, so Hermione probably needs your help more than we will!"

Ron looked surprised and confused for a moment, and then a look of dawning realization came over his face as he stared at his two friends.  Their scars…

"Right," he said, nodding suddenly.  "See you later, then," he slapped Harry on the back, gave Heather a quick nod, and dashed after Hermione who, having received her orders from McGonagall, was rounding up and quieting a group of Gryffindor first, second, and third years.

"Come on, we've got to move," Harry murmured to his sister, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the double doors of the Great Hall.

"So, Heather is…"

"Alive," Dumbledore confirmed with a deep nod to Sirius.  He and Remus just stood there, staring at him with the utmost shock on their faces.  "She'd been raised as an American Muggle in New York until early this year, when Voldemort found out about her and brought her here.  Peter left her in the Forest to pay back Harry's life-debt-"

"And why haven't you told us before now?" Remus interrupted, face fixed in the calm expression Sirius knew meant that he was agitated.  The flickering light from the fire made the premature lines on Remus' face stand out more prominently, making him look old and tired.

"Because I felt that the less people who knew, the better.  I'm sure we all understand the delicacy of the situation," Dumbledore responded evenly.

"Then why are you telling us now?" Sirius asked, tiredly.  He knew Dumbledore's real reason for not telling the pair of them was that the older man knew they would run off to see Heather for themselves in the blink of an eye.  Sirius couldn't help agreeing; that was exactly what he wanted to do right now.

"Because I fear that Voldemort will be coming for them soon, and I want you to have more information than he does."

Remus looked up sharply.  "If Voldemort is coming for them…well, you've got some sort of plan, haven't you, Dumbledore?  To keep them safe?"

Dumbledore looked at them both very gravely.  Sirius and Remus had been two of the brightest students Hogwarts had ever seen, but Sirius had always been too impulsive, and in some situations, Remus could be the same way.  This had to be handled carefully.

"The day will come," Dumbledore began slowly, "when they will have to face Voldemort by themselves." He waited a moment for this to sink in.  Remus sat down heavily, staring into the fire.

"_That's_ you plan?" Sirius cried incredulously.  "Let them fight against Voldemort and see what happens?  Well, I can tell you right now - he'll kill them!"

"Give your godchildren more credit, Sirius.  Keep in mind, they are the only two people ever to have faced Voldemort, and not only to escape, but to triumph over him," Dumbledore replied, voice steady and calm.  Sirius didn't seem to be listening.

"They're children!  You can't ask them to sacrifice their lives for a cause they can't even fully understand!" he shouted.

"I agree with Dumbledore," Mundungus spoke up from the other side of the fire.  "Harry and Heather are the only ones who have the potential of stopping him!" he pointed out defensively.

"Why am I not surprised, Mundungus?" Remus hissed, voice cold.

"Listen, Remus – Voldemort is getting stronger and stronger.  He's killed over one hundred people so far this year, and it's not going to stop!  He'll only get more power until he kills us all and there's no chance of stopping him!  We have to be willing to make whatever sacrifices are necessary to keep that from happening.  Lily and James would've seen it, why can't you?"

"I flatter myself to know a bit more about Lily and James than you do, Mundungus, and I really don't think that they-"

"Silence!" Dumbledore shouted.  He waited for everyone to calm down a bit.  Sirius was looking daggers at Mundungus, and Remus had a restraining hand on his friend's shoulder.  Arabella and the rest were watching the exchange anxiously, apparently unwilling to commit to one side of the argument or another.

"Now," Dumbledore went on once he had their attention, "I am certainly not suggesting we sacrifice Harry and Heather to Voldemort, or that we sit by and watch while he kills them.  What I _am_ saying is that one day Voldemort will come, and unfortunately that day may be sooner rather than later.  The reason I'm telling you all this is that we need to be prepared for anything that comes.  We need to-"

Dumbledore was interrupted by a piercing whistle that seemed to be coming from his robes.  Sirius turned his eyes away from Mundungus as Dumbledore reached inside his cloak and pulled out a small crystal dish, which seemed to be the source of all the noise.  The headmaster whispered a quick incantation and watched as Professor McGonagall's face appeared in the plate.  She seemed to be walking swiftly along one of the corridors of Hogwarts, leading a large group of students, some of whom were crying softly.

"What is it, Minerva?" Dumbledore asked, looking serious.

"Voldemort," she replied, voice sounding small and tinny as it echoed off the dish. "He's come to the castle.  And I think we both know what he wants," she added significantly.  Sirius and Remus exchanged a horrified look.

"Where are they?" Dumbledore demanded.

Professor McGonagall sighed.  "I don't know.  Ron Weasley said something about Harry thinking Voldemort was there for them and Heather wanted to 'take him out'…" she trailed off, looking both worried and a bit confused.

"Thank you, Minerva.  I trust you to take the regular safety measures.  I'll be there with reinforcements as soon as possible."  Minerva gave him a sharp nod before vanishing from the dish.

"Now," Dumbledore began, turning back to the Order members.  He looked to his left at Sirius and Remus, but they were already gone.

Harry sprinted up a twisting staircase, still clutching Heather's hand tightly as his scar throbbed painfully.  Behind them in the Entrance Hall, they could hear muffled pounding and shouts; the Death Eaters hadn't breached the castle walls yet, but it wouldn't be long.

"Um, Harry?" Heather panted after a while, "Where exactly are we going?"

Harry didn't answer for a long moment.  He was racking his brains for somewhere – anywhere! – in the castle where they would be completely safe.  Professor Trelawney's room?  The passageway to Honeydukes?  All the ideas that passed through his mind were quickly discarded.  He didn't know enough about the castle to come up with an appropriate spot.  And he didn't like the idea of hiding when so many of his friends were still in danger.

"We're going to Gryffindor Tower," he huffed out finally, "We need to get the Map!"  If only he'd brought it down with him!  But there was no time for self-recrimination now, he decided, as he and Heather hurried past a portrait of militant looking monks, who seemed to be organizing the other paintings into battalions.

Suddenly, from up ahead, they heard the clattering of footsteps and several harsh yells – someone was coming their way, fast.  Ducking around a corner, Heather yanked her brother along after her and into a dark, abandoned hallway.  She was just in time; a small group of dark robed and white masked Death Eaters dashed past along the corridor they had just vacated.  Harry turned to look at Heather, grateful relief in his eyes.  His expression altered quickly, however, when they heard a hollow slam from further down, and a deep voice say,

"No one in this room, Goyle.  Any luck?"

"Nothing," another man, presumably Gregory Goyle's father, grunted out.

"Check down that dark hallway, then.  I'll look in here."

It seemed a pair of Death Eaters had stayed behind to systematically search the third floor for any stray students.  Harry's stomach clenched as he heard footsteps drawing nearer to them… they were going to be caught!  The steps hesitated momentarily and the second voice spoke up once more.

"Ryan, don't you think we could just go down to the Entrance Hall?  We're on buffoon's duty up here…"

"No!  Are you mad?  Disobey a direct order?" the first man snapped.  Apparently Mr. Goyle was properly abashed; he didn't respond.  'Ryan' however, wasn't finished.  "You heard what our Lord said – don't let anyone slip by!  We can't let someone escape and hare off to get help from the bloody Ministry!  Now, go on, look down that hall!  Now!"

Heavy footsteps were approaching rapidly, and, after looking around madly for another way of escape, Harry and Heather both realized with a sinking feeling that their only option was to stand and fight.  Exchanging a look with his twin, Harry stepped away from the cold stone wall and faced the entrance to the corridor, getting into the appropriate dueling position.  Heather nervously followed his example.

A large, bulky man, features obscured by his mask and shadowy hood, peered into their hall and grunted in surprise to see them there.

"LeStrange!" he bellowed, just as Harry shouted, "Stupify!" wishing he could think of something stronger.  

His spell had the desired affect, however – the beefy man crumpled to the floor with a satisfying _smack_ as his face hit the bare stone.

Another man appeared, silhouetted in the light from the torches in the main hallway – Ryan LeStrange, Harry assumed.  The man looked slightly disheveled and deranged, but after fourteen years in Azkaban, who wouldn't?

"Stupify!" Heather cried, but LeStrange blocked the spell; clearly his stay in prison hadn't dampened his dueling skills any.

"Petrificus Totalus!" he cried, and Heather was on the floor, stiff as a board.  "Well, well, well…" LeStrange muttered to himself, eyes glinting as they traveled over both the children's faces, "Look who we have here…" he started towards them, Harry raised his wand – but before he had time to do anything, the man gave a startled cry and fell to the floor in a heap and two much more welcome figures took his place.

"Sirius!  Remus!" Harry cried excitedly, looking at his father's two best friends.  They both hurried towards him and Heather (who was still down), their smiles quickly replaced with looks of worry.

Bending over Heather, Remus quickly preformed the counter-curse and helped her to her feet.  She smiled at them both tentatively and they stared, transfixed, at her.

"Wow…" Sirius murmured, "She…wow…"

Remus nodded in agreement, swallowing hard.

"I…what?" Heather asked, looking back and forth between the two of them, rubbing absently at her scar, which was aching.

"You look _exactly_ like your mother," Remus explained finally, "and seeing the pair of you together… It's like looking back twenty-two years at Lily and James."

Heather and Harry grinned, pleased.  Then Remus and Sirius both seemed to jerk out of their trances, and looked at the pair with more agitated expressions.

"We need to get you two out of here," Sirius began, placing a hand firmly on Harry's shoulder and starting to lead them along the hall.  "Voldemort's here to finish you off, just to prove that he can, and I'd rather _not_ have you be here for him to catch."

Harry and Heather exchanged a look, obviously both thinking the same thing.

"We can't just leave everyone else here," Harry, being on more familiar terms with both Sirius and Remus, was the one who spoke.  "If it's our fault Voldemort's here in the first place-"

"Wait a moment," Remus interrupted, "I don't remember either of us saying that it is in any way _your fault_ that Voldemort is here!  Anyway-"

"Our fault or not, we can't just leave innocent people with him if it's _us_ he's looking for!" Heather cut in, one hand pressed against her throbbing scar.  "If we have a chance of helping-"

"But you don't!" Sirius pointed out bluntly as they paused in the doorway of an empty classroom.  "Voldemort has gotten very powerful over this last year, and he's got most of his Death Eaters back, not to mention the Dementors and about half the giants – Remus and I saw them when we were flying in."

"We've already defeated him once before," Harry began irritably.

"And Harry did three more times, by himself!" Heather added.

"So we're not completely useless," Harry finished, casting a grateful glance at his sister to acknowledge her contribution.

"Be that as it may," Sirius began, and Remus was surprised by the calm steadiness of his friend's voice; perhaps he was taking his newfound godfather/authority figure position more … ahem … _siriusly_, "neither of you are currently prepared to take on Voldemort along with his minions.  We need to get you out of the castle and figure out some plan of attack.  Then, with Dumbledore and the rest of our allies alongside us, we can work to liberate the castle.  But right now, old Lizard Eyes has clearly got the one up on us."

Harry was tempted to agree - it certainly was the more reasonable plan…  But one thought about Ron and Hermione, or even Neville or Dean or Lavender - or _any_ of them… and Harry knew that they had to stay.  He glanced at Heather and she gave him a small nod of agreement.  Harry inwardly wondered at how quickly they had fallen into the pattern of communicating almost telepathically.

"No," he said firmly, "We can't leave.  Not until Voldemort does." He wasn't used to being quite this much of a stubborn prig, but he supposed desperate times called for desperate measures.

Sirius ran a hand roughly through his hair, clearly exasperated, and Remus had adopted his falsely calm expression once more.  "You know we could just force you to come with us," Sirius pointed out, more characteristically than his earlier speech.

"I suppose you could," Harry agreed slowly, brow furrowed as he watched Sirius, waiting for him to make his decision.  It was exactly the same expression that James used to wear whenever he was waiting for Sirius to give in to the inevitable, and come around to _his_ way of thinking.

"Fine," Sirius growled finally, looking annoyed.  They started walking again.  "We'll get as many people out as possible, but once we've done that, you two are coming with us, right?"

Harry and Heather glanced at each other again and then nodded, looking a bit reluctant.

Sirius watched his two godchildren with satisfaction.  He had heard somewhere that raising children was all about compromise, and apparently that was true.  He relaxed a bit as his mind traveled along the very familiar, and long unused, paths of planning a Hogwarts breakout.

"They've got a slight benefit to navigating the castle, with the Rat on their side," Sirius began, thinking out loud, "but we've got something they don't: the Marauder's Map.  And the Invisibility Cloak," he added, almost as an afterthought, "That won't be any good against the Dementors, but it'll be helpful to have it.  Come on, this way."

Remus, out of long standing (and perhaps a bit ill-advised) habit, had accepted Sirius as the navigator, and the two children had followed his lead.  Shooting the pair a sideways glance, he felt another sharp twinge.  Seeing them walking side by side through the halls of Hogwarts… It could have been a scene from the past, had he and Sirius been about twenty years younger.  And if Peter had been walking with them.  

This last thought was intentionally painful, used to pull himself out of the nostalgic daydream that was rapidly dragging him under, not unlike those sucking mud pits he'd seen in Albania.  Now was not the time, nor the place to start longing for the old days.

"I think it's this way," Sirius said, leading the small group along the left fork of a hallway intersection they'd come to.

They quickly had to jump behind a large and conveniently placed statue of a bulky, armored wizard as several Death Eaters came dashing down the hall, chased by a solid wall of Hogwarts ghosts, all screeching furiously.  Looking mildly impressed, Sirius turned to the others.

"Look, maybe we'd better split up.  It'll be easier to travel, anyway," he considered them for only a moment before nodding decisively.  "Harry, you're with me.  Moony, you're with Heather.  Go to Gryffindor Tower and get the Map and Cloak.  Whoever gets there first, check the Map and find the other group.  Sound good?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

They all nodded before going their separate ways; Remus and Heather down the right-hand fork, and Sirius and Harry down the left.

"So…" Heather began, as Remus helped her through a hidden sliding panel.  "You're a werewolf, huh?" she went on as they crawled along the tight, airless passageway.

Remus cleared his throat uncomfortably.  He'd always been a bit claustrophobic, and the topic of conversation wasn't helping his nerves at all.

"Yes," he replied finally.  "Does that bother you?" he questioned, trying to make his voice light.  One thing he'd thought he would never have to worry about was James and Lily's own children being prejudiced against him, but Heather _had_ been raised by American Muggles – who knew how she'd turned out?

Heather waited until they'd tumbled out of the tight passageway and onto a rickety set of wooden stairs before turning to look at him.

"No," she said firmly, then reconsidered.  "Not tonight, anyway" she added, eyes twinkling.  Remus must have looked slightly confused, for she nodded her head towards a small window to their right where the half moon was framed perfectly by the stone sill.  Remus looked back at her to see she was smiling.  He grinned slightly as they started to ascend the stairs.

"Besides," Heather went on cheerfully, "Oz from _Buffy_ was a werewolf and he was, like, the coolest guy ever!"

Remus wasn't sure he quite followed her logic, but nodded, pretending to understand.  He was glad that she wasn't bothered by his lycanthropy; it made everything much easier.

They had reached the fifth floor landing that Heather recognized as being only about a minute away from the portrait of the Fat Lady.  She turned to Remus, an impressed look on her face.

"That's a great short cut!" she exclaimed, smiling, though she still seemed to be in pain from her scar.

Remus couldn't help smiling again.  "Yeah.  James found that one third year," he remembered.  Heather frowned, looking thoughtful.  She opened her mouth, probably to pose some question about her father and his general personality, but was cut off by a triumphant shout from behind them.

Whirling around, they were faced with the rather alarming sight of two giants - shaggy, tangled heads just brushing the ceiling - and one lone Death Eater.

Remus cursed under his breath.  Some protector _he_ was turning out to be.  Oh, well…

"_Tantus barbaricus confusio!_" he shouted out, using the specialized Giant Curse he'd picked up while studying the appropriate defenses against dark creatures in the mountains of Wales, years ago.  

One of the two giants stopped moving abruptly, looked around, a dazed expression on his face, and thundered off in another direction, hopefully one that led out of the school.

The Death Eater took full advantage of Remus' momentary distraction and shouted out a curse of his own: "_patesco lupus_…" something?

Remus stumbled backwards, feeling as though he had been punched in the nose.  The familiar prickling feeling he got before one of his horrible transformations started at the back of his neck and worked its way out… no!  He couldn't transform!  Not here!  Not now!

Abruptly, the feeling stopped; he could see clearly again, and what he saw quite amused him.

The Death Eater was hopping on one leg, and at the same time trying to do some sort of ridiculous waltz with the second giant as his partner.

"Nice work," he said to Heather, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her away from the scene.  They could hear the giant bellow behind them and start to give chase, his pounding footsteps making vases on their pedestals tremble and fall to the floor.  The sound of shattering glass and angry yelling followed the pair as they rushed into a (thankfully) much smaller hallway where the giant couldn't follow.  

This didn't seem to matter; the giant had apparently lost their trail, and was now stumbling along the larger corridor, banging his huge axe against the walls.  They could hear the sound of crumbling rock getting further and further away from where they stood, ears pressed against the door of an empty, dusty chamber.

"Spread out!  Find them!" a distant voice commanded.

Heather glanced at Remus, looking worried.  He pulled away from the door and started piling furniture in front of it.  Heather quickly joined in, dragging a small table away from a window to jam it against the doorknob.

Lucius Malfoy and several of his fellow Death Eaters sped over to a spot in the halls where another dark robed figure was standing or, more accurately, jumping on one foot and trying to perform some sort of bizarre dance at the same time.  Lucius allowed himself an annoyed sneer before releasing his compatriot from the spell.  He was truly surrounded by idiots…

"What happened?" he snapped at the panting, and clearly still dizzy, man.

"The werewolf…" the man wheezed out, "and the girl…"

"What!" Lucius cried sharply.  This fool had had the Potter girl in his grasp and he'd let her get away? "SPREAD OUT!" he bellowed to his division, "FIND THEM!"

"No need, Lucius," the other Death Eater said, slowly getting his breath back, "I believe she'll come to us…she'll soon realize that allies are only allies in the right, er, _light_," he finished suggestively, gesturing to the half moon outside with his wand and starting to smile.

Lucius eyed the man for a moment before smiling himself.  "Good thinking, MacNair.  But just remember: if it comes out badly, it was all _your_ idea….  Nott!  Snape!  With me!" he barked, sweeping off towards the Great Hall, followed by two other tall Death Eaters.

After almost every moveable piece of furniture was stacked against the door, Remus and Heather sat down heavily on the floor against the wall, breathing hard.

"Think they're coming?" Heather asked after a long, tense pause.

Remus shook his head.  "Doesn't sound like it…"

Heather leaned back against the wall and eyed the man next to her out of the corner of her eye as she rubbed at her scar, which was still throbbing dully.  "So, 'Remus Lupin', huh?" she said finally, corners of her mouth twitching slightly.

"Yes…" Remus replied slowly, wondering if she was going to make another confusing and unknown werewolf reference.

"Your parents really had it in for you, huh?" After his curious look, she went on, hastily, "I mean _Remus Lupin_?  You were _so_ destined to be a werewolf!"

"I suppose I was," Remus said slowly, a slightly twisted smile on his face.  Sirius had pointed out the same thing to him many years ago, actually.  The thought had never really occurred to him before that… his lycanthropy had never seemed humorous until Sirius had found out.  Then he could almost laugh at his monthly ordeal, looking forward to the moonlit adventures he and the other Marauders would share when the moon waxed full, and he was the wolf again.  

He broke off from this train of thought as Heather started to speak again.

"I mean, me, I'm pretty safe, right?  'Heather Potter'…" she considered the words as they rolled off her tongue, clearly enjoying the sound.  "It has a nice ring to it, but it doesn't really imply anything… any future bites…" she was speaking slowly, obviously trying to get at something, but not sure quite how to do it.

Finally, she chose the direct approach.  "Remus, what were my parents like?"

Remus tilted his head back to survey the smooth ceiling thoughtfully.  "They were very… brave," he said finally.  "They were strong.  Funny.  Very smart… and considerate… they were the two best people I've ever known."

Heather smiled, and then hastily wiped away a tear that had coursed down her cheek.  "It's weird, you know," she whispered to him finally.  "All this time, I wanted to meet my parents, Lawrence and Judith Evans…" this time it was her smile that was twisted.  "I created all these stories about them in my head.  That they were secret undercover agents or something, and had to go away on a mission, and one day, they'd come back and tell me they were sorry for leaving, and we could be a family again," she bit her lip and looked up as a few more tears trickled down her face.  Remus watched her seriously, brow furrowed.

"Now I find out that those people I dreamed about never even existed.  The person I thought I was never even existed."

"That must be very hard," Remus said gently, his heart going out to her.  Lily and James had wanted to name him Heather's godfather all those years ago, but he had pointed out - a bit morbidly perhaps, but still truthfully – that if the unthinkable happened, and they were to die, he wouldn't be able to raise a child with his condition.  So they had given full rights to Sirius.  For the first time, Remus felt himself regretting his choice.

Heather, meanwhile, was considering his statement.  "Actually," she said finally, "it's not that bad.  Because the truth about me and about my parents…it's more incredible than anything I ever could have imagined," she turned and gave him a somewhat teary smile, but a smile none-the-less, and Remus couldn't help returning it.

Suddenly he felt his limbs start to stiffen up…the prickling feeling had started again, running along his spine as fur pushed it's way through…

How could he be transforming now?  He knew it was only the half moon – Heather had even pointed it out earlier!  Then he remembered… that Death Eater's curse…

"Remus?" Heather's worried voice seemed to be coming from very far away, and her face was blurry and disjointed.  "Remus, are you alright?  What's wrong?"

"Go!" he shouted at her, pushing her away from him and towards the door.  "There isn't any time, go!  Now!  Find Sirius…" he stopped with a yelp that was only part human.  He tried to yell at Heather to go again, but his voice didn't seem to work.  He could feel his bones bending and molding to form a new body, the organs shifting and rearranging themselves… he could hear muffled bangs and thuds as Heather frantically pulled the furniture away from the door…

Remus felt as if his entire body were on fire.  If he'd thought his regular transformations were bad, this forced one was about three times worse.  He started to scream; it turned into a howl halfway through.  The wolf could smell human… a girl – she was on the other side of the room, but not for long-

"I'm sorry!" she called desperately over her shoulder before swinging open a door and slamming it shut behind her.  The words meant nothing to the wolf.  He leapt over broken furniture and threw himself at the door.  It held, but not for long.  He could smell the human on the other side, getting further away.  She was slow – if he could get out now, he could still catch her…

With a long, bone chilling howl, he threw himself at the door again; this time there was a smash of splintering wood and he was free, with the whole castle as his territory.  Tearing off, he followed scent of the girl.

Harry and Sirius hurried along the fifth floor landing that was only about one minute from the Fat Lady's portrait.  Harry crossed his fingers, hoping she would still be there and hadn't rushed off to join one of the portrait armies he and Sirius had seen on the way there, who had organized to carry messages from one group of hidden students to another.  By asking politely, they had managed to get some good information about where some of the teachers were, but the Map would be much more useful.

The pair had also passed a few groups of confused Death Eaters, who apparently had either never attended Hogwarts, or couldn't quite remember where things were, because they were letting the changing pictures confuse them.  They had even passed one giant near the Astronomy Tower who was loudly wondering how to get into the dungeons.

Harry and Sirius had also been forced into several confrontations with various Death Eater groups, not to mention a few Dementors, which had slowed them down considerably.  Harry was proud to have done a good job for himself against the Dementors; his lessons with Lupin in third year had really paid off.  Sirius had seemed very interested in the form of Harry's Patronus.

Harry's scar had continued throbbing painfully ever since Voldemort had arrived at the castle, making him dizzy and slightly irritable.  He was starting to get used to it, but it still hurt.

"We're almost there," Harry pointed out unnecessarily.  "D'you think Heather and Remus-" he was cut off by a long, anguished howl and the sound of distant splintering wood coming from some passageway behind them.

Harry and Sirius both froze, and Harry felt the hair on his arms stand up.  Another howl echoed eerily down the stone corridors, this time sounding triumphant and frighteningly closer.

"Things just got a whole lot worse, didn't they?" Harry asked Sirius, wincing slightly.

"Yes, they did," Sirius muttered in agreement.  Then the sound of heavy, padding footsteps started to get louder…

"Go!" Sirius hissed to his godson.  "Get up to the Tower – find Heather!" Harry nodded and bolted off around a bend as Sirius quickly transformed into Padfoot.

Inhaling deeply, he sorted through various scents – old and new – left by students who walked these halls every day.  He could pick out Harry's scent among them, fresh and frightened.  Padfoot whined, wishing he had been able to protect his godchildren better from Voldemort – not just now, but fourteen years ago as well.

Sniffing inquisitively into another corner, Padfoot picked up another fresh scent… Heather, he realized with an excited yip.  He could smell her fear, but he could also tell that there was no blood – Moony hadn't hurt her.  Yet.

Hearing a low growl from behind him, he turned to see Moony himself.  Padfoot wagged his tail tentatively, wondering if his old pack-mate would recognize him.

Apparently not - the wolf growled again, deeper, and raised his hackles at the intruder in _his_ territory.

Padfoot lowered his eyes respectfully and put his tail between his legs, trying his best to look unobtrusive and friendly.  Moony relaxed a bit, but was clearly not ready to accept this strange dog.  

Padfoot pulled out his last weapon and barked in the old pattern that they'd worked out while they were back in school.  James had called it the 'Safety Bark', to be used if Moony started to get out of control during their adventures.  It called him back to them, made him remember his human side a bit more, and helped him to identify his friends.

It worked; Moony's ears pricked up and his tail gave a slight, almost imperceptible wag.  He replied with his own bark pattern and trotted over to Padfoot with great dignity.  Padfoot, feeling guiltily joyful to be back with Moony under such circumstances, yipped again and wagged his tail enthusiastically.  Moony eyed him with a look of slightly indulgent disapproval, but Padfoot didn't notice.

As much as he enjoyed being with Moony again, he knew that his first job was to keep his godchildren safe.  He'd lead Moony off somewhere, then return for Harry and Heather.  Padfoot gave Moony a cheerful doggie grin, and they trotted off in the opposite direction of Gryffindor Tower.

Heather ran as fast and as far as her legs could take her, not noticing where she was going, her scar burning stubbornly and painfully the entire time.  She'd been sitting in that room with Remus, when all the sudden he'd sort of seized up and started shaking and sweating.  When she'd asked what was wrong, he'd shoved her away and told her to run.

She'd been about to refuse to leave him alone, when his eyes had started to _glow yellow_.  His canine teeth had started to get longer and sharper, and his head stretched out…  

That was when she'd scrambled to her feet and hastily started to disassemble the pile of furniture around the door, frantically looking back at him every so often.  What she'd seen had made her shudder.  She couldn't imagine how excruciating it must be to turn into a wolf, especially when you knew you'd have to do it again only a month later.

Throwing one last painfully inadequate apology over her shoulder, she'd run away as fast as she could.  But the screaming and the howling hadn't stopped.

Sprinting at top speed around another corner, Heather crashed into something – no – some_one_.  He gave a startled cry and fell backwards, with her on top of him, their limbs tangled together.  Heather heard something clatter across the floor – her wand!

The person underneath her grabbed her wrist and she bit his arm.  He gave another shout and threw her away from himself.  Heart pounding furiously, Heather looked up to see-

"_Harry_?" she gaped at him, still breathing heavily from her run and the subsequent struggle.

"Heather?" her brother responded, looking a bit winded himself.  "Here," he bent down and helped her to her feet, straightening her robes.  "Sorry about that."

"Yeah…sorry…" she panted, taking huge gulps of air.  A look of panic came over her face suddenly.  "Harry, …Remus… werewolf… ran…" she gave up, collapsing against the wall with a hand to her chest.

"I know," Harry agreed, looking concerned, "Sirius and I, we heard him howl… are you alright?"

"Me?  Fine," she wheezed, raising an eyebrow at him and wiping the cold sweat from her forehead, wincing as her hand passed over her scar.

"Remind me to tell you to get into shape," Harry told her with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood as he rubbed at his forehead.

Heather shot him a glare and bent down to retrieve her wand.  "You'd be out… (gasp) …of breath, too, if you'd… (pant) … run halfway across the castle," she swallowed and looked around a bit warily.  "Where are we, anyway?"

"Second floor," Harry responded, leaning against the wall and watching the movement of the paintings around them for any hint of approaching enemies.  While he'd been wandering the castle looking for Heather, he'd gotten pretty good at recognizing the signs.  "See, look – there's Myrtle's bathroom over there," he jerked his thumb over his right shoulder.

Heather made a face in the general direction of Myrtle, then seemed to think of something.  "Um… where's Sirius?" she asked, looking a bit worried again.

Harry tried to think of a reassuring answer, but couldn't find one.  "I don't know," he answered truthfully after a pause.  "I think he was going to handle Remus-" he stopped abruptly as they both heard a low growl coming from around the corner.

Harry clapped a hand unnecessarily over Heather's mouth and looked at her fearfully.  The growl came again.  'Werewolf', Harry mouthed at his twin.

Heather, looking reasonably annoyed, pulled his hand off of her mouth.  'Oh, _really_?' she mouthed back sarcastically.  Harry rolled his eyes at her and pulled out his wand.

'Stupify', he mouthed at her, then held up three fingers to silently count down.  Heather nodded in understanding and held her own want at the ready.

Three…two…one- Harry and Heather leapt out from their corner, pointed their wands at the huge canine and shouted "STUPIFY!"

The animal gave a startled yelp and crumpled to the floor.  The triumph of the moment was ruined, however, as Harry made a loud and very exasperated exclamation and hurried towards the unconscious heap of fur.

Even Heather had to admit that it wasn't what she'd expected.  Weren't wolves generally a little smaller?  Also, she was sure that Remus had been gray, and this enormous, black, dog-like creature was very different from him.  She didn't, however, see what Harry was getting so upset about.  She came out further into the hall and decided to voice her opinion.

"Harry, calm down.  Okay, so we didn't get Remus, but at least we took out this thing.  Come on – big, toothy, _scary_?  It probably wasn't here to wish us luck!"

Harry turned his annoyed and slightly worried expression to her.  "Heather, this is _Sirius_," he informed her sharply.

"Yeah, I _am_ being serious!" she retorted, putting her hands on her hips and frowning.

Harry's shoulders slumped forward in defeat and he sighed, exasperatedly, though he was obviously unable to keep a small smile from playing on his lips.  "_No_, not '_serious_'!  '_Sirius_'!  This, here, is Sirius in animal form!  He's an Animagus!"

"Ohhhh!" Heather said, figuring it out.  Then, "OH!" as she realized what they'd done.

"_Eneverate_!" Harry said, wisely ignoring his sister's antics and pointing his wand at the still unconscious Padfoot.

Nothing happened.

"Harry, I've got a bad feeling about this," Heather began tremulously, gazing off down the hall.

"No, don't worry, he'll come around, just give him a moment-"

"Actually, my bad feeling was more about the large werewolf standing right behind you," Heather said, voice tight and eyes wide.

Harry looked up sharply to see Heather, face pale and staring at something over his shoulder.  He whipped around in time to see the huge wolf crouch, and then spring forward at Heather, long jaws snapping for her throat.

Ron walked quickly along one of the underground corridors of Hogwarts, Hermione and Seamus on either side of him, and about half the Gryffindors behind.  Professor McGonagall had called all the sixth and seventh years to help her fight, and had sent the fifth years to keep the younger students safe. 

            Hermione had truly risen to the challenge.  Ron could tell she was nervous, but she had taken control without hesitation, revealing a side of her he'd never seen before.

            "Come on, this way!" she hissed to the group of people following her as she gestured to a corridor that branched off to the right.

            Suddenly, Peeves swooped around the corner and cackled maliciously when he saw them.  Ron's heart dropped into his stomach.

            "No, Peeves – keep quiet!" Hermione begged as Peeves drew a huge breath into his lungs.  Peeves grinned evilly at her, black eyes sparkling horribly.

            "STUDENTS DOWN THE POTIONS CORRIDOR!!!" he screeched out, shooting off in the opposite direction towards the Potions classroom.  "DOWN HERE!  THIS WAY, DEATH EATERS, THEY'RE THIS WAY!" he called, getting further and further away from them.

            Ron could hear a few muffled shouts further along down another corridor as a group of Death Eaters chased off after Peeves, trying to find the escaped students.

            "Did Peeves just _help_ us?" Ron asked Dean Thomas incredulously as Hermione led them around another corner.

            Dean's answer died on his lips as they all came face to face with a group of cloaked figures, grinning at them nastily.

            "Run!" Hermione shrieked at the younger students.  They didn't need to be told twice.

            The fifth years however, stood their ground and faced the Death Eaters, blocking the spells that were shot at them as they tried to fight back, if just to give the younger children time to run for it.

            Ron hoped desperately – as he saw Hermione go down next to him, as he was hit in the stomach with a particularly strong curse – that Harry was doing better than they were.

Remus' front paws hit her first, slamming into her chest and pushing her painfully onto the hard stone floor.

Then the rest of the wolf's long body hit her, and she felt like her all ribs were being broken as the wind was knocked out of her lungs.

Heather couldn't breath, she couldn't think – all she could do was stare up in horror into those wide yellow eyes and those long, white, and _very_ sharp teeth.  Heather squeezed her eyes shut - she didn't want to die this way; it was too awful-

Suddenly, the crushing weight was gone, and she could suck air back into her lungs with huge, greedy gulps.  She opened her eyes to see the wolf flying through the air and crashing with a painful crack right into the wall, Harry's wand pointed at it.  The black dog woke up suddenly, shook his head to clear it, and transformed back into Sirius, who still looked slightly dazed.

Harry was shouting something, he was pulling Sirius to his feet, they were grabbing her arms and dragging her along with them…

Glancing over her shoulder as she was hauled off down another hallway, Heather was assured that Remus had _not_ been hurt seriously by the blow he'd taken.  Indeed, he hadn't even been knocked unconscious.  He was standing, a bit wobbly on his paws, perhaps, but definitely standing, and definitely starting to chase them.

Heather started to run in earnest, Sirius pulled open a door leading into a dimly lit room with a wet floor, she and Harry were running inside, Sirius right behind them – and they were safe.

They could hear the werewolf barking and howling outside as it slammed its body against the door, which, mostly due to a quick charm from Sirius, stayed intact.

Harry sagged against the wall, casting a nervous glance at Heather.  "Not to be redundant," he began, "but are you alright?"

Heather gave him a shaky smile as the feeling came slowly back to her limbs and brain.  "Yeah, I'm okay."

"_Not for long…_" a sharp voice hissed.  The trio jerked around to see that Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, which they had taken refuge in, was completely devoid of Myrtle herself, but happened to be _very_ full of snakes.

Sirius leaned against the secured bathroom door, relief flooding through him.  They were all right; Harry and Heather were all right…

Outside, Moony howled again, and Sirius couldn't help feeling that underneath the wolf's obvious disappointment and frustration was a very clear note of Remus' own relief.

Suddenly, he heard a sharp hiss and turned around to see – 

Snakes.  Hundreds of large, squirming snakes were packed into Moaning Myrtle's dank little bathroom.  They were draped across sinks, curled around pipes; some were even oozing out of the toilets themselves.  

But the largest source of them seemed to be a human sized opening under one of the sinks, where a huge boa constrictor lounged languidly, most of its glistening brown body out of sight down the tunnel.

Sirius found himself wondering, irrelevantly, what Myrtle thought of this reptilian invasion of her private sanctuary.  If he remembered correctly, she'd been none too happy when he and James had barged in here to hide from McGonagall after playing a prank on the Slytherins.  The two of them had only escaped after James had been forced to pledge his undying love to the ghost, and swore to return for her, some day, but that was another story.

Sirius pushed these thoughts aside as he was faced with a more pressing matter – namely the fact that Harry seemed to be _talking_ to the snakes.  He was hissing and spitting evilly, and they seemed to understand him.

As did Heather.

Nervously, Sirius poked his goddaughter in the ribs.  She turned to look at him, though most of her concentration was clearly still focused on Harry.

"Is Harry…" Sirius trailed off uncertainly.

"What, talking to them?  Yeah," Heather said, shrugging dismissively as she rubbed absently at the thin, pink, lightning bolt scar that was clearly displayed on her forehead.  "We both can… Not quite sure why, though.  Harry knows more about it than I do, really."

"What's he saying?" Sirius whispered as Harry listened to what one of the snakes was telling him.

"Well, Harry just told them that we're sorry for intruding, but we just needed a place to hide out for a bit, and could they please let us stay here for a while longer," Heather answered in the same hushed tones.  "Now _that_ one's telling us that they answer to Lord Voldemort, and their orders are to turn us in to him…" she trailed off and started hissing, herself, eyes fixed on the snake that had addressed Harry.

Sirius watched in amazement as all the snakes' heads turned towards her, bright eyes watching her intelligently.  He felt a chill crawl up his spine but ignored it.  These were his godchildren – Lily and James' kids!  He had no reason to fear them; it was ridiculous.

As Heather finished, all the snakes started hissing quietly and the two human children exchanged uneasy looks as the Leader Snake talked back to them.

Heather frowned unhappily and turned back to Sirius.  "I just told them that there was a time when their noble breed didn't take orders from anyone, but they laughed at me and then _he_ said that I won't be able to play on their vanity, because snakes aren't vain and are therefore superior to humans…" she trailed off again, listening intently to what the snakes were telling her.

"Now Harry's said that if they're superior, they why're they following Voldemort?  What's he offering them?  Then they got really annoyed and started arguing… I couldn't follow most of it… now that one's saying that they'll help us if one of them will speak for us…"

Harry watched intently as the snakes hissed amongst themselves.  Please let one of them speak up, please…  It would be rather embarrassing if they were turned in to Voldemort by a bathroom full of snakes, and just after they'd thought they were finally safe…

After an anxious pause, a thin, black snake about the length of Harry's leg rose up and started to speak.

"_I do not know the boy,_" it began, "_but I will speak for the girl.  We met in the Forbidden Forest earlier in the year and I pledged my aid to her.  I pledged to her before I pledged to Lord Voldemort.  It is to her that I owe my true allegiance._"  Both children relaxed a bit, but were still clearly worried.  Who would speak for Harry?  

The snakes fell back to hissing amongst themselves, and Harry and Heather could plainly make out words like, _Chamber of Secrets_, _basilisk_, and _Slytherin_…  They were obviously having difficulty deciding to whom their _real_ allegiance was.

Just at the dangerous moment, the enormous boa constrictor that was lying along the entrance to the Chamber lifted its head.

"_I will speak for the boy.  He saved me from a most undignified fate at the hands of stupid Muggles.  I was in a zoo-_" here there were hisses of sympathy, anger, and disgust.  Sirius shifted uncomfortably, but stood his ground.  "_This boy set me free.  I owe him my allegiance._"

Harry grinned in relief, remembering the boa constrictor he'd accidentally set loose at the London Zoo five years ago, before he'd even heard of Hogwarts.  

The snakes were hissing to each other again, but this time there didn't seem to be much disagreement.  The boa was easily the largest snake there, and while another, green and silver one had been the one who spoke throughout most of the exchange, it was clear who the leader was.

Sirius watched as Harry grinned broadly and exchanged a relieved look with Heather after the boa constrictor had hissed at them.  That was a good sign…

Heather turned to Sirius.  "Snakes have spoken for both of us.  They're going to give us one favor, aside from not turning us in," she finished, watching him expectantly, and Sirius realized that she and Harry were asking for his advice.

"Er…" he considered, "Where's that tunnel lead?" he asked, gesturing to the boa.

Harry started to answer, but the boa interrupted him and he listened to it politely, hissed something back, smiled, and then turned to Sirius.

"He said that it leads to the Chamber of Secrets, but there's tunnels all over the school that humans can fit through."

"Can we get to Gryffindor Tower?" Sirius asked.

Heather hissed something at the snakes and waited for their reply.  She then hissed something back eagerly, and exchanged an excited look with Harry.

"Yes, they'll take us to the Tower," she explained to Sirius.  He smiled back at her, trying to force down some trepidation.  Were they going to have to crawl along that tunnel along with all those snakes?  He'd never been claustrophobic, like Remus, but he disliked snakes.  It wasn't a 'girly' fear of them, as Snape had often suggested after he'd found out, but just a natural dislike.  He assumed it had something to do with them being the symbol of Slytherin House.  Well, that didn't matter right now – too much was at stake for him to let his discomfort around reptiles keep them from their goal.

Sirius gave Harry and Heather a quick nod and they all started forward, only to be stopped as all the snakes hissed at once and rose up angrily.

Harry and Heather were listening to them again, and this time, they didn't look happy.

"What is it?" Sirius asked nervously.  The snakes didn't want to _eat_ him or anything, did they?

Harry answered, almost reluctantly.  "Well… they said that they won't let you come because no one's spoken for you.  But that's okay; we can find another way to the Tower," Harry finished hastily as Heather nodded vigorously.

Sirius considered for a moment, brow furrowed.  He knew that the right decision here was also by far the most dangerous for his two godchildren, and that made him reluctant.  They needed to get the Map, especially before Peter did, and the quickest way of getting to it was with the snakes.  But leaving the two of them alone…

With an unpleasant jolt, Sirius also realized something else: Moony was out there, roaming the castle right now.  If he hurt someone, even a Death Eater… Sirius knew that his friend would never forgive himself.  There was only one thing to do.

"No, you two go on without me," Sirius said firmly.  Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Sirius waved him aside.  "No, listen – you get up to the Tower, get the Map and the Cloak.  I've got to see to Moony – make sure he doesn't hurt anyone."

Heather paled, that idea clearly having just occurred to her.

"Alright…" Harry said uncomfortably.  

Sirius smiled.  "I'll meet up with you as soon as I can.  Be careful!" he warned, squeezing both their shoulders gently.  "I'll see you soon."

With that, he transformed, much to the alarm of the snakes.  Harry pulled open the bathroom door for him, and then Padfoot trotted off down the hall, following Moony's scent.

Hermione blinked and sat up slowly, her head pounding ferociously.  Ron was lying next to her, still unconscious.  Looking around, she saw many familiar faces, some awake, some looking dazed, and some crying softly.  All of them were silent and bathed in a pale green light.             Looking up sharply, Hermione saw the Dark Mark through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall.  So that's where they'd been taken.  It looked very different with the tables and chairs shoved against the walls and the school banners, all except for those of Slytherin House, ripped to shreds and strewn about the floor.  And with no Dumbledore there to welcome them all to meal time. 

            Hermione felt in her pocket for her wand, and with a chill realized it was gone.  Looking around the room, she noticed a heap of wands in the center of the room, which was steadily growing as more and more people – students and faculty – were led into the Hall.

            Everyone was being seated on the floor and guarded closely by about a dozen Death Eaters and, she realized with a chill, two Dementors.  So that was why she'd felt so cold and miserable, although she suspected she'd have felt the same way even without the Dementors there.  Everyone looked thoroughly depressed, except for Draco Malfoy and his pack of Slytherin friends, who were the only people in the Hall sitting in chairs instead of on the floor.

            Quite suddenly, one of the Dementors swooped down on a group of quietly crying first years and grabbed one of them around the neck, forcing the boy's face upwards.  A large number of people screamed and lurched forward to help the boy, Hermione included, but they were all knocked backwards by an invisible force, as was the Dementor.

            "Now, now, now," a cool voice said calmly, "That isn't allowed."

            Hermione looked around and saw a tall, robed figure, hood pushed back to reveal a pale face and blood red eyes.

            It was Lord Voldemort.

            Hermione could immediately see why Harry, after coming face to face with the Dark Lord, had insisted upon calling him by his name; no other words could fully describe the horror and the fear that one felt after seeing this… this _creature_.

            "I think that the Dementors had better wait outside with the giants," Voldemort was announcing silkily.  "I explained it all very plainly to you lot – everyone in Hogwarts must bear witness to the destruction of the Potters, and _then_ you may have whoever you want to eat.  But if you're not going to listen to my directions…" he shook his head disapprovingly, as though reprimanding a naughty child.  "Go on, go outside and guard the castle."

            The Dementors didn't move.

            "NOW!" Voldemort shouted, pointing his wand at them.  The Dementors flew out of the Great Hall swiftly, and Hermione shuddered to think how powerful Voldemort must be.

            Then she turned her mind to another obvious problem.  Before they'd been captured, Ron had explained to her about Heather Evans really being Heather Potter.  It was all so unbelievable, but she supposed it must be true.  After all, why else would Voldemort show up all of the sudden, demanding to be delivered 'the Potters'?

            And he wouldn't kill any of them until they'd seen him murder Harry and Heather…  Hermione crossed her fingers and prayed that her friends had gotten out of the castle safely.

Harry and Heather peered out through a crack in the wall before pushing the tapestry further aside and jumping out into a well lit corridor right near the Fat Lady's portrait.  Harry hissed a thank you down the tunnel they had exited, waited for a reply, and then let the tapestry swing back into place.  He turned to Heather, who was trying to pick some of the slime from the tunnels off of her robes.  Giving up at last, she followed Harry carefully to the corner of the hallway, peering into the one leading to the Tower.  It was clearly empty, so they stepped out to face the Fat Lady…

Who was gone.

But 'gone' didn't fully describe the situation.  Her frame was torn from the wall and hung at on odd, sideways angle.  Deep slashes and scorch marks covered the painting and the stone around it, and chunks of canvas littered the floor.

But that wasn't even the worst part.  In the space where the Fat Lady's portrait would have normally hung, they could see a gaping hole into Gryffindor Common Room.  A sick swoop of dread shot through Heather's stomach and she hurried forward, pulling herself through the hole, Harry right behind her.

The Common Room was deserted and demolished.  Armchairs and ottomans and tables had been smashed to bits, some pieces still smoldering.  The old tapestries had been torn apart and burned, and it looked as if a small-scale explosion had taken place in a corner.

Stepping further into the room, Harry heard a soft crunch under his foot.  Looking down, he saw a chess piece – a knight, moaning and waving an arm feebly.  Harry recognized it as one of Ron's.

Pushing down their fear and horror; Voldemort and his followers had done _much_ worse in the past than destroy furniture; Harry and Heather ran up to the boy's dorm, taking the steps two at a time.  They had to be careful not to trip over pieces of wood from broken doors that had been blown up as Death Eaters, searching for stray Gryffindors, ripped rooms apart.

Arriving in his dorm at last, Harry felt a twinge of painful hope to see that his trunk was tipped over and half buried under his ruined mattress, but otherwise untouched.  Maybe… maybe…

Pulling open the lid, Harry and Heather started to paw through the things that spilled out: his broom servicing kit from Hermione, the Sneak-o-scope from Ron, his Firebolt, then they found it: the Marauder's Map, tangled up in the Invisibility Cloak.

Sighing in relief and stepping over the ruined shreds of Dean's West Ham foot ball posters, Harry led his sister back down stairs, where they studied the Map for several long moments.

The House Common Rooms, clearly labeled on the Map, had all been cleared out, and none of the secret passages held any occupants.  Harry supposed that this was mostly Peter Pettegrew's doing; he knew the castle as well as the Map did.  There were a few remaining pockets of students and faculty hidden away in secret chambers that Peter either hadn't remembered or else hadn't gotten to yet.  Among these he saw Professors Sprout and Trelawney with a large group of younger students whose names he couldn't quite put faces to.

There were many groups that consisted of three or four people sweeping through corridors and peering into various rooms.  Harry saw that they consisted of such names as 'Goyle', 'Crabbe', 'Avery', and, with a sharp pang, 'Snape'.

Heather looked at him, horrified, yet angry; she'd clearly noticed as well.

Many of the names on the Map were unpronounceable, such as 'Umpha Grytslug', or 'Ponbs ht Wetdra'.  Harry supposed they must be the names of giants.  He knew there were Dementors around somewhere, but they seemed to be creatures that the Map didn't show.

Then there were some little dots on the Map that just sat, quite still, in the middle of halls or rooms, unmoving.  Harry supposed they were Stupified, or else-

He blinked, willing the word to go away.  No one was dead; it wasn't possible-

Heather poked Harry in the arm and pointed to a large space on the Map – the Great Hall.  Here was the greatest concentration of dots, and among them were such names as 'Minerva McGonagall', 'Parvati Patil', and 'Terry Boot'.

Then Harry saw what Heather had really been pointing out, and he felt his stomach heave unpleasantly.

Right in the center of the room was a tiny black dot labeled 'Lord Voldemort'.

Hermione sat on the floor of the Great Hall next to Ron, who had woken up a few minutes earlier, and wrung her hands nervously.  She looked around to survey all the frightened faces and tried to pick out those she knew. 

            She recognized most of them, but the two people she was looking for hadn't arrived yet.  Had Harry and Heather escaped?  Were they going to get help from Dumbledore?  She hardly dared to hope.

            Glancing to her right, Hermione could see Professor McGonagall, seated on the floor like the rest of them, but still managing to look calm and disapproving.  Hermione tried to imitate the look, but failed.  She was just too worried.

            Hearing the perpetually pacing footsteps draw near to her, Hermione glanced up, hands shaking.

            Voldemort had paused near her, his eyes sweeping over the growing crowd.  Hermione found herself unable to look him full in the face; every time she got close, her eyes skittered away, repulsed.

The whole situation was surreal, she thought, as she took in Draco Malfoy with his friends across the room, chatting unconcernedly with one of the guard Death Eaters, and the pile of wands in the center of the Hall, her own buried among them.

            Voldemort had captured them, brought them here, took away their only defenses, and made them sit in silence, waiting for the blow to fall.  Would he kill them one at a time?  Would he let some live?  Would it hurt very much?

            Hermione tried desperately to crush the growing fear in the back of her mind, but couldn't.  She felt like she was going to scream, or explode, or both.  Her stomach roiled and she felt dizzy, the Great Hall was starting to get blurry…

            Suddenly, Hermione felt a cool hand slip into hers.  She looked at the hand's owner – Ron.  He was giving her a concerned look and squeezing her hand reassuringly.

            Hermione felt her pulse slow down, her stomach stop pitching, and her ears stop ringing.  Shooting Ron a grateful look, she squeezed his hand back before releasing him.  He smiled, then looked away, ears bright red.

            Suddenly, the double doors swung open and two Death Eaters trooped in, carrying an unconscious form between them.

            "Sirius Black, my Lord," one of the Death Eaters announced as they deposited Sirius at his feet.

            "And the werewolf," he added, as two more robed figures entered, struggling under the weight of an enormous, unconscious wolf.

            "Put these over there," Voldemort said dismissively, gesturing in Ron and Hermione's direction.  By now they'd figured out that the short man in Death Eater's robes standing next to Voldemort was Peter Pettegrew.  Hermione saw him shudder at the sight of the unconscious Remus and Sirius.

            "Still no sign of them?" Voldemort was demanding coldly of one of the Death Eaters.

            Hermione listened hard; she was sure they were talking about Harry and Heather…

            "No, my Lord.  Not since MacNair saw the girl with the werewolf."

            Ron and Hermione exchanged relieved looks, and turned to watch as Remus and Sirius were laid down next to them.

            "They will come soon," Voldemort said confidently before gesturing towards Sirius.  "We have something they want…"

Harry and Heather traveled along another corridor, much slower than they had before because they were under the Cloak.  Harry had never had any problems in the past putting _three_ people under the Cloak at once, but he'd grown quite a bit taller that summer and Heather was only a few inches behind.  Also, she kept stepping on his feet.

Peering at the Map under the Cloak, Harry saw that they were rapidly approaching the Library.  According to the Map, there were two people a bit further down the hall, not moving.  He pointed this out to Heather, who nodded, her face showing only the slightest amount of apprehension.  Those people weren't… _dead_?

Coming around the corner, they were much comforted.  The two people – 'Samantha McKay' and 'Grace Allen', Hufflepuffs by their robes – were clearly not dead; they both stood upright near a wall, and were breathing slowly, eyes half open and jaws slack.

So they weren't Stupified, either…  Heather stepped forward to get a closer look and Harry was pulled along with her, because of the Cloak.  He was clearly unhappy about their new position, and was shifting nervously.  Heather couldn't imagine what his problem was, so she ignored him and tried to figure out what sort of counter-curse would be appropriate on the two small girls, who couldn't be more than first years.

"_Finite Incantatem_," she tried.  Nothing happened.  Well, that was odd.  Perhaps her wand needed to be _outside_ the Cloak.  Yes, that would be it-

"Heather!" Harry suddenly whispered hoarsely, clamping a hand down on her shoulder, "Come on, let's go.  Leave them…"

"_Leave_ them?" Heather repeated incredulously, wondering at Harry's fearful expression, "We can't _leave_ them, we've got to _help_ them-"

"There's nothing we can do for them now," Harry said, shaking his head.

"What?  They're not _dead-_" Heather began, looking a bit annoyed with him.

"No," Harry agreed, "they're worse.  Dementors."

It was all he needed to say.  Heather reeled back from the two girls, who suddenly looked much younger than first years, and Harry pulled her along a different corridor.  They stopped halfway down when it suddenly became apparent that Heather wouldn't be going any farther for a while.

After checking the Map to make sure they were still safe, Harry turned his attention to Heather, who was crying.

"Heath…" he began quietly, hugging her.  She put her arms around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder for several minutes before pulling back and wiping her eyes.  Harry was glad she'd stopped; he'd begun to feel an uncomfortable prickling at the back of his own eyes, and he didn't want to go to pieces – not here, and not now.

"Thanks for that," Heather said softly, trying to smile and failing miserably.  "It's just so _awful_," she explained, voice breaking.  Her face crumpled and she started to cry again, but forced herself to stop as a suit of armor to her right moved forward on its own-

No, they quickly realized, _not_ on its own; a dark shape was emerging from behind it, then another, and another…

Harry had to remind himself that whoever it was couldn't see them; they were still safe…

Then one of the members of the group stepped into the dim light of the hall, and Harry recognized him: Justin Finch-Fletchy, a Hufflepuff Prefect from Harry's year.  He turned back to his group.

"Ok, I know where we are, back inside," he whispered to them.  "There's got to be a tunnel that leads out…" Justin, clearly not used to navigating the castle's many secret passageways, was _very_ lost; the Library was in the center of the school and it wouldn't be easy for him to get out to the grounds from there.  Unless of course, you knew where to go…

"Justin!" Harry hissed, pulling the Cloak off.  

Justin gave a startled yell and jumped backwards, right into Hannah Abbott, his fellow Prefect, who emitted a high pitched squeak.

Harry glanced hastily at the Map to see if anyone had been alerted by the noise, but it looked like they were still okay.

"Wow, Harry," Justin breathed as Hannah peered at them over his shoulder, "you two know how to Apparate!"

Harry smiled slightly.  "No, it's just an Invisibility Cloak," he informed them.

Heather held up the silvery Cloak to prove the point.

"Oh," Justin looked a bit sheepish, but still impressed.  Heather glanced at the group of first, second, and third years that was backed up into the tunnel behind the suit of armor.  They were mostly Hufflepuffs, but there were several Ravenclaws and some Gryffindors.  There were even one or two Slytherins, looking just as frightened as the rest.

"I can get you out of the castle," Harry whispered to Justin, stepping towards him.  "I know a secret tunnel that leads into Honeydukes."

"Really?" Hannah gasped, looking excited.  "Oh, thank goodness!  Where is it?"

"Follow me," Harry whispered, checking the Map once more and setting off towards the statue of the one eyed witch.

"So, how did you know about that passageway?" Heather whispered to Susan Bones and Hannah as they herded the frightened younger students ahead of them.

Hannah shrugged.  "We didn't.  That Slytherin first year – Jessica – she said there was supposed to be one by her Common Room, so we found it.  We just sort of kept collecting people on the way," she explained gesturing to the group of about twenty students ahead of them.

"Heather?" a suit of armor whispered nervously.  Heather jumped about three feet in the air and Hannah squeaked again.

"Who's that?" Harry asked the suit of armor as the younger students watched with great interest.

Slowly, a dark haired, round-faced boy unfolded himself from behind the hulking form they had originally been addressing.

"Neville," Heather breathed in relief.  "What happened?  What were you doing back there?"

"Hiding," Neville said, looking unhappy with himself.  "I was with a group – Ron, Hermione, and a bunch of others…  Then these Death Eaters came.  They surrounded us but I ran away…"

"You did the _right thing_, Neville," Heather said forcefully, trying to push down the pang of worry she felt for Ron and Hermione.  "You wouldn't be able to help anyone if you got captured.  As it is, you can help me and Harry a lot right now."

Neville looked up at her hopefully.  "I can?"

"Yeah, Neville!" Harry agreed, cottoning on.  "We were just showing Justin and Hannah and everyone how to get out of the castle, but maybe you could go instead…" Harry glanced down at the Map.  There was another large group of students creeping about by the Transfiguration classroom.  And another down the Charms corridor.  If Neville could take this lot the rest of the way, he and Heather could go get the others…  But was Neville up to it?

"You know that statue of the one eyed witch in the third-floor corridor?" Heather asked.

Neville nodded slowly.

"Well, all you have to do is tap the witch's hump with your wand and say '_Dissendium_'," Harry explained, "then you can go down the tunnel.  Don't go all the way to Honeydukes, though," he added as an afterthought.

"We don't know if Death Eaters have taken over Hogsmeade yet," Heather agreed, nodding.

"Can you do that, Neville?" Harry asked, looking hopeful.

Neville thought hard for a moment.  "Yes…" he said finally, looking nervous, yet firm.  "I can.  Come on, everyone," he said to the group of students.  They obediently started to follow him away, and Neville, looking determined, waved to Harry and Heather before leading the group around a bend and out of sight.

Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak back over the pair of them and set off, Heather in control of the Map now.  She seemed a bit better, but still a little shaky, and Harry fervently hoped that they didn't find any more Dementor victims.

They were about half way to the Transfiguration classroom when Heather stopped abruptly with a quiet choking sound.

"What is it?" Harry whispered, feeling sick with dread.

Wordlessly, Heather turned the Map towards him, and he saw why she was upset: a dot labeled 'Lucius Malfoy' was walking along the third-floor corridor, and any moment now he would meet Neville's group…

Harry yanked the Cloak off and the two of them sprinted back the way they'd come, past Neville's suit of armor, down a set of stairs…

Heather chanced another look at the Map and saw that 'Neville Longbottom' seemed to be facing off with Mr. Malfoy while a cluster of dots including 'Hannah Abbott' and 'Marina Chosco' huddled in a corner.  Heather ran faster.

Harry wasn't quite sure how it happened.  All he knew was that one moment he was running along the third floor, Heather right behind him, and the next she was pulling back on his robes, laughing her head off as she almost choked him to death.

"Ouch!" he complained, loosening her grip, "Heather, what-"

"Look!" she exclaimed, shoving the Map at him.  He did, and what he saw quite amazed him.  

The Lucius Malfoy dot seemed to be being dragged into a small closet off the hall by the Neville dot and the Justin dot.  The other dots were swarming down the tunnel leading into Honeydukes.

"Neville did it!" Heather exclaimed excitedly, "Neville took him out!"

Harry grinned.  "I knew there was a reason he belonged in Gryffindor!"

"Presumably because he's smarter than you two," a cold voice spoke from the shadows.  Harry and Heather whirled around.

It was Snape.

Hermione sat in the Great Hall quietly.  How long had she been there?  An hour?  More?  She wasn't sure, and neither was Ron.  Sirius and Remus were both still unconscious, which made her very nervous.  Was it healthy for someone to be out for so long?  What spell had they been hit with?

Quite suddenly, and to Ron and Hermione's great relief, Sirius started to moan softly and then opened his eyes.

"Sirius!" Hermione whispered, trying not to draw attention from any of the Death Eater guards who were stationed around the Hall.  "Are you all right?"

"I think so," Sirius replied, giving her a courteous smile.  "Are Harry and Heather here?"

"No," Ron answered, sharing a look with Hermione.  "We don't know where they are.  Don't think he does, either," he added, jerking his head in Voldemort's direction.

"Are they okay?" Hermione asked anxiously, forcing herself to remember to keep her voice down.

"Last time I saw them," Sirius responded, glancing over at the unconscious werewolf next to him.

"It's not a full moon," Hermione commented quietly.

Sirius glanced up at the enchanted ceiling to affirm this statement and was met with an extremely unpleasant sight.

The Dark Mark was hovering above them – he could make out the lines of the skull and the curving snake that slithered out of its mouth, and for the first time since he'd woken up he noticed the bright green light they were all bathed in, making everything look sick an distorted.  His stomach clenched as he remembered the first time he'd seen the Dark Mark in person.  He'd been sixteen, they'd told him his family had been killed and he'd gone home immediately to find it floating over his house, the skull grinning at him mockingly.

He suppressed a shudder.  The man who had done all that was right in front of him, but once again, Sirius could do nothing but wait.

"Snape," Harry hissed poisonously as Heather quickly hid the Map behind her back.  Snape mustn't see it!

"Should've known you'd go back to Voldemort," Heather said coldly, "_Mischief Managed_," she murmured under her breath, hoping it had done the trick.

Snape ignored her.  "You two are coming with me, right now," he stated.  Harry gave a bark of harsh laughter.

"You're mad.  We're not going anywhere with you!"

"Yeah, it's two against one, Snape," Heather agreed, "I don't love your chances."  She tried to sound brave.  Snape was older and more experienced at dueling than either of them.  But that hadn't stopped them before had it?

Snape sneered at them.  "Oh, calm down," he said irritably, "I'm not going to turn you in, I'm here to help you escape."  He looked unhappy about the idea, but sincere.

Harry and Heather gaped at him.

"You want to _help-_" Harry began incredulously.

"Yes, Potter, as much as I don't like it, I have to help you.  Now, come on, I know the way to get out-"

This time it was Heather who interrupted him.  "So if you're on our side, then why are you in Death Eater robes?"

Snape looked exasperated.  "_Because_, Potter, Dumbledore asked me to go back to Voldemort as a spy for our side.  I've been passing Dumbledore information all year."

"Oh, yeah, that was a good idea on Dumbledore's part," Harry said agreeably.  "It'd be really helpful to have someone on the Inside, you know, so they could tell us if Voldemort's planning anything.  Like, say, an _attack on the castle_!"

"I wasn't told about this!" Snape shot back defensively, "I've betrayed him Voldemort before, and so he still doesn't trust me-"

"Wow," Heather cut in, "I never thought I'd actually _agree_ with him on something."

"Will you two just shut up and come with me!" Snape said, looking dangerous.

"No," Harry retorted, not moving.  "We're not leaving until we've gotten everyone else out of the castle."  Heather nodded her agreement.

"Oh, for-" Snape hissed, throwing his hands in the air.  "Are you two really that stupid?  Voldemort's going to kill you!  Maybe no one explained this to you, but _you're_ the reason he's here at all!"

"No one had to explain it," Heather said, icily, "We know that he's here for us, and that's exactly why we can't leave.  We're the only one's who've ever been able to stop him before, so if we can do it again – even if we die – that's what we've got to do."  She looked to Harry for confirmation and he nodded firmly.

He knew Heather was right.  Those dreams he'd been having this past week – he was sure he knew what they meant now.  All those people being killed by Voldemort… it was a vision of the future; the horrible future they were all doomed to unless someone could stop it.   And it seemed like he and Heather were the only ones available to do that.

Harry took a deep breath.  Their parents had died fighting for the cause; maybe it was time for the next generation to follow through with their legacy.  Even if they couldn't take Voldemort down with them… even if they could only weaken him, or stall him long enough for Dumbledore and the Ministry to get there…

Something Dumbledore had said to him five years ago came back suddenly, '_-and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power_.'

They could save all those people.  It was what they had to do.

Snape still looked annoyed, but at the same time oddly uncomfortable.  "You're being ridiculous," he announced, "There's no way you two could stop Voldemort-"

"Oh, yeah," Heather snapped sarcastically, "Because we've never done anything like that _before_."

Snape seemed to be struggling with himself.  He didn't like these two, undoubtedly.  He hated them, even – but he wouldn't wish the fate that awaited them at the hands of Voldemort on anyone.

"Look, Snape," Harry said, deciding to step in, "We're going to him with or without you, so you might as well help yourself and make him think that you're on his side."

Snape hesitated for another moment.  Potter _did_ have a point…

"Fine," he hissed at them, and for the first time ever, Harry saw something slightly less than hatred in the man's eyes.  Slightly.

Heather let out the breath she'd been holding, feeling oddly hollow.  This was the right thing to do; she knew it.  But that didn't mean she liked it.  She was going to die.  Harry was going to die…  

The words chased themselves around her mind and she barely noticed when Harry asked Snape if he could have 'a moment alone with his sister.'

"So," Harry said, trying to smile at her after Snape had moved a few feet away, "This is it."

"I guess so," Heather agreed.  "What a night, huh?" she added with a small laugh.

Harry grinned.  "Oh, yeah…"

They looked at each other seriously for a long moment.

"It's been really great being your sister," Heather said softly, giving him a hug.

"And it's been really great being your brother," Harry added with a weak smile.

They stared at each other for another moment, then turned towards Snape, who approached them again.

"Wands," he commanded.  Heather glanced at Harry, but he was already handing over his wand, so she reluctantly followed suit.

"Hands," Snape went on, tucking their wands into his robe.  Heather watched her wand vanish from sight for what she was sure would be the last time.  She held out her hands and looked away as she felt tight cords tie her wrists together.

"Follow me," the Professor said, face unreadable.

Faces blank, Harry and Heather Potter followed him towards the Great Hall.

Sirius tensed as he saw Moony twitch out of the corner of his eye.  The last thing they needed was for a full-grown werewolf to attack everyone.  But instead of waking up, Moony was starting to transform… his snout grew shorter, his ears shrunk, and his paws started to look like hands and feet.  Within five minutes, Remus was Remus again, though he was still unconscious.  Sirius breathed a sigh of relief.  At least that was one less thing to worry about.

Glancing up at the double doors, Sirius wondered once again where his godchildren were.  Were they safe?  Had they finally come to their senses and managed to escape?  Had they noticed that he and Remus were listed on the Map as being in the same room as Voldemort?

Sirius then turned his gaze onto Lizard Eyes himself.  Hermione had informed him in a hushed voice that she suspected the short Death Eater next to Voldemort to be Wormtail.  Sirius growled.  If he'd had his wand in his hand, and not in that pile in the center of the room…

Well, it wasn't technically _his_ wand.  He'd stolen it from some drunken wizard he'd found passed out in a ditch last summer.

They'd snapped his real wand in half once he'd been given the Azkaban life sentence.  Sirius could still remember the pain he'd felt when they'd done it - like someone had stabbed him in the heart.  He'd learnt about that in Defense class seventh year.  Voldemort had been steadily gaining power, and their teacher, Professor Dunlath, had taught them how to effectively stop a Death Eater.

'If you can manage to get his wand,' the man had said, dry, snapping voice ringing through the silent classroom, 'break it.  The more powerful the wizard, the more it will hurt him, and it will slow him down long enough for you to finish him off…'

The idea had seemed much less sinister then, sitting with his friends in the same classroom he'd sat in for seven years…

Not that Death Eaters didn't deserve it, of course.  And that's what they'd thought he was.  A Death Eater.  A traitor.  And all the time it was that short, miserable, worthless Peter.  Sirius clenched his fists as he watched the Traitor exchange a few words with another of Voldemort's servants.  To think that he'd joked with that Rat, defended him against Snape and his friends…

Suddenly, the double doors opened, and a tall Death Eater, hood drawn up around his face, marched in, leading two people-

It was Harry and Heather.

Sirius bit back a shout of horror.  His godchildren, his best friend's children – they were about to die, and he couldn't do anything to defend them.

He heard Hermione give a soft little cry of dismay.  Looking over at her, he saw that her eyes were wide and her face pale.  Ron looked slightly green and was watching his two friends with a resigned expression.  Sirius felt inclined to agree with their feelings.

He looked back at Harry and Heather.  Their eyes were flicking around the room, from one face to another.  They came to rest on him for a moment, but their faces didn't betray their emotions.

"My Lord," the Death Eater that led them was speaking.

"I have found them," Snape said to Voldemort, bowing.  Harry's heart was beating hard against his ribs, and his scar, which had been hurting more and more as they'd traveled towards Voldemort, felt like it was on fire.  He tried unsuccessfully to ignore the pain.

Over in a corner of the Hall, he could see Sirius, Hermione, and Ron, all of whom looked shocked and horrified, and Remus, who was still out.

"Ah," Voldemort murmured, and Harry was aware that everyone in the room was looking at them.  "Thank you, Snape, that will be all."  Snape bowed again and moved away, leaving Harry and Heather alone in the center of the Hall with Voldemort.

There were startled whispers from all over the hall as people exclaimed over this revelation about their Potions master.  They quietly rapidly, however, when Voldemort started to talk again.

"I have waited a long time for this," he was telling them.  "Hello, Harry, it's been a while," he said, grinning horribly.  "Heather, how wonderful to see you again."

Harry glanced away quickly to see that Death Eaters were swarming into the Hall through the doors and taking positions around the room, as though this were some kind of spectator sport.

Far from the sick, terrified feeling Harry had expected to come over him, he felt oddly calm and composed.  He wondered if it might have something to do with the fact that this time as he faced the Dark Lord, he was not alone.  Or maybe it had more to do with the fact that he had already accepted his fate.  He didn't like it, but he didn't fear it, either.

"What's the matter, don't you have anything to say?" Voldemort taunted.  Harry and Heather stared stonily back at him, ignoring the Death Eaters, who were laughing.

Heather was quickly starting to loose composure.  Harry looked very calm, but she supposed that was because he'd faced Voldemort so many times before.  This was almost an everyday occurrence for him.  

She, on the other hand, was sure she'd never been so terrified in her life.  She was about to die horribly and painfully at the hands of an evil, mass-murdering wizard, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.  Also, her scar felt like it was being carved out of her head with a butcher's knife.  This… _thing_ …standing in front of her was the reason for all the mysterious pains she'd felt in her scar all those years.  She was tempted to laugh at the thought of the migraine medicines that the doctors had prescribed; no amount of medication would save her from Voldemort.

Like she always did when confronted with a situation she couldn't handle, Heather made a sarcastic remark.

"Are you going to kill us, or do we have to chat about the weather first?" she snapped, surprised how steady her voice sounded.  Harry smirked at Voldemort, and she suddenly felt braver.  Her tactics might not be the most mature or helpful, but they had gotten her through fourteen years of foster homes, and they didn't seem to do too badly here, either.

Voldemort turned his blood red eyes to her and smiled.  

"You'd like to get this over with quickly, eh, Miss Potter?" he asked cordially.  Again, there were whispers from students all over the Hall at the mention of Heather's true name.  "I couldn't agree more," Voldemort continued, taking a step towards her.  Heather bit back a gasp as the pain in her head increased sharply. "I'm sure we all have other plans we're eager to get to."  He stared at the two of them a moment longer, his eyes flicking between their faces, before turning to the side.

"Untie them!  And Snape, give them back their wands!" he ordered, stepping back.

Heather and Harry exchanged a surprised look as a short Death Eater came nervously over to them and pulled off the ropes binding their wrists.  Snape handed them back their wands, face expressionless.

"Now I will prove, in front of the assembled witnesses, that Lord Voldemort is unstoppable!" Voldemort began, pacing around the Hall.  "People have thought, for far too long, that the Potters were my downfall.  Tonight, I will prove otherwise!"

He turned back to his alleged destroyers, and bowed mockingly.  Harry was unpleasantly reminded of last year when he'd dueled with Voldemort.  He tried to force himself to calm down.  He'd done fine for himself then, and now he had a marked advantage – it was two against one.

Harry bowed slightly in return, shooting Heather a significant look to show that she was expected to do the same.  Last year, when he'd refused to bow, he'd been forced to.  He found that it was much less humiliating to do it willingly.

Voldemort didn't waste any more time, and soon curses were flying back and forth between the three of them.

As he dodged to the side to avoid a spell, Harry saw Heather get lifted off the floor and then slammed back into it, head first, by some curse he couldn't identify.  This was useless – Voldemort knew thousands more dueling tricks and spells than he and Heather combined!

"_Expelliarmus!  Stupify!_" Harry shouted again and again.  Voldemort blocked his spells without any trouble at all, and the Death Eaters were laughing again.  He was toying with them.  Making them out to be fools before he killed them once and for all.

Behind Voldemort's back, Heather started to move as the fog around her brain began to clear.  No sooner had completely dissipated than she wanted to call it back again; it felt like her skull was shattered and her spinal cord snapped.  Opening her eyes and assessing the situation, she saw that Voldemort and Harry were dueling.  Harry seemed to be doing surprisingly well for himself, until she realized that Voldemort wasn't fighting at all – just blocking her brother's spells as his stupid Death Eaters laughed…

A wave of hopelessness washed over her, quickly followed by a wave of anger.  How could they laugh?  Fingers tightening around her wand, Heather wobbled to her feet and pointed her wand at Voldemort's back.

Dishonorable or not, she had nothing against hitting this particular man while his back was turned…

But he seemed to have anticipated this move, and whipped around to face her.

"Now, now, Heather – that's not very honorable is it?" he said, mockingly.  "_Crucio!_"

Suddenly, a pain such as Heather had never felt washed over her.  It felt like every bone in her body was being warped and bent, her muscles twisted and jerked, her skin felt like it was being boiled off, and jagged knives stabbed into her stomach and lungs… the pain went on for an eternity… she was sure her head was going to burst apart… her ears rang with an odd sound – someone was screaming, and it very well could have been her.  She couldn't tell, though.  She couldn't see, she couldn't hear, she couldn't think, and she couldn't breath…

Suddenly, the pain stopped.

Well, that wasn't quite true; she still felt as though every bone in her body were broken, and her muscles and joints still ached.  The thing that was killing her was gone, but the wounds it had left remained.

Remus had snapped awake when Heather started screaming, but because Heather was screaming, Sirius hadn't noticed.  It was only after Harry had run forward and, completely abandoning the ideas of magic, tackled Voldemort to the ground and punched him in the face that Remus' struggle to stand attracted his friend's attention.

Reaching down, Sirius helped Remus to his feet and let the man lean on him, as he still seemed a bit shaky.  Sirius wasn't surprised; whatever curse those Death Eaters had hit him with had been strong.

They looked back at the horrific scene in front of them to see that Voldemort, looking definitely rumpled, had knocked Harry across the room with the flick of his wand, and Heather was still laying in a heap, shuddering.

Harry quickly got up, somehow still clutching his wand, and stumbled over to Heather.  He knelt next to her, trying to help, but there didn't seem to be anything he could do.

Harry fell more than sat next to Heather to try and comfort her.  He was still rather shaky from his attack on Voldemort; when he'd touched him, he'd felt like his head would explode from the shooting pains in his scar.

"Now," Voldemort whispered, sounding frighteningly close, "We finish this."

Harry looked up at him to see that his wand was raised, and that it was pointed directly at Harry's chest.  This was it…

"_Avada Kedavra!_" Voldemort shouted, at the exact moment Harry shouted "_Expelliarmus!_", figuring it was worth another try.

He'd been right; with a jolt, jets of green and red light from both Harry's and Voldemort's wands burst forth and connected, forming a beam of golden light that connected the two together.

Just like it had the year before, a white bar appeared in the center of the beam, and just like last year, it started to creep towards Harry…

He struggled to stand up, trying to summon more strength, from somewhere deep within himself, but he seemed to be rather tapped out.

The beam of golden light splintered and shot in all different directions, forming a sort of dome around the three figures: Harry and Voldemort, wands raised towards each other and locked in a furious yet silent battle, and Heather, still crumpled on the ground by Harry's feet.

Harry could hear muffled shouts from outside the dome, and Death Eaters paced around uncertainly.  He could see Sirius and Remus yelling something to him, but he couldn't hear what it was…

The white bar of light was still crawling towards him, getting faster as it went.  When he had pushed it to Voldemort's wand last year, it had regurgitated shadows of its past spells – Priori Incantatem, Dumbledore had called it.

Would it do the same to Harry's wand?  Once it ran out of spells, what would happen?  It probably didn't matter.  He and Heather were going to die, and they hadn't been able to do anything to hurt Voldemort; they hadn't even slowed him down!

Heather opened her eyes blearily.  She still ached all over, and she still felt like her head was going to burst from the pain in her scar.

What she saw didn't improve her mood.  She seemed to be laying next to Harry, whose wand was connected to Voldemort by a thick ray of light, and they were all inside some kind of glowing dome.

Great.  Now she was hallucinating, too.

She blinked her eyes and tried to sit up, and, failing that, lifted her head a little.  Her vantage point changed slightly and she could see, just past the light-dome, Death Eaters circling in agitation, and beyond them, dozens of pale faces watching in horror and fascination.

"Heather," Harry grunted painfully.  He was trembling and sweating under the effort of keeping up the beam of light with Voldemort.  Heather noticed that there was a tiny bar of white light nearly touching the end of Harry's wand, whichstarted to smoke faintly.  "Give me a hand, will you?" he gasped at her.

Well, what did he expect her to do?  Kick Voldemort's legs out from under him?  It was tempting, certainly, but she wasn't sure it would do much good even if she _could_ have moved her lower body.  She seemed to have dropped her wand somewhere, so magical help was out of the question as well…

It suddenly struck her that as soon as that white bar touched Harry's wand, he was going to die.  Her twin brother – who she'd only met that year, and she'd only found out about that night – was going to be murdered while she lay on the ground next to him and watched uselessly.  There didn't seem to be much she could do, except make sure that he didn't die alone.

Reaching up, Heather wrapped her fingers around Harry's hand.  He looked down, surprised, and then took her hand in his and _squeezed_.  But the squeezing didn't stop.  It spread down her arm and along her body, all the way down to her feet.  It wasn't an unpleasant, painful constriction, but a gentle, reassuring squeeze, like being hugged by a very large, very loving aunt. 

Heather felt strength and warmth shoot through her.  The aches left by the Cuciatus Curse vanished, the throbbing pain in her scar deadened – she could stand, and she did, taking her place next to her brother, who was starting to smile as the same power surged through him.

Their hands, still clutched tightly together, started to glow – faintly at first, and then stronger until it was a rich golden color laced with red – the colors of Gryffindor House.  The golden beams of light that made up the web-dome around them seemed to be called by this new glow of power; the beams were sucked towards the two of them, and then they were sucked _into_ them.  

Harry didn't know any other way to describe it.  It was like he was absorbing power from the air around him.  Suddenly, his problems with Voldemort seemed petty and small – hardly worth bothering with.  He could feel his consciousness sweep through the corridors of Hogwarts, out across the lawn, to the bottom of the lake, through Hogsmeade, and beyond it…  It was almost as good as flying.

Returning back to the Great Hall, Harry could sense another consciousness – Heather.  They turned their attention back to Voldemort.  It would be a hard battle, but they already knew the outcome.

The white bar of light started to move back along the beam towards Voldemort's wand and his eyes widened in surprise.  The dome barrier around them had become transparent when the golden light had flooded towards Harry and Heather, but was apparently still there, because several Death Eaters started forwards to help their master but were knocked back.

Harry couldn't help smiling triumphantly.  Suddenly, he was speaking, although he hadn't known what he was going to say until he heard himself saying.

"Heir of Slytherin," he began, voice eerily deep as he addressed Voldemort, "If it is a battle you want, then it is a battle you shall have."  '_Shall_'?  He'd never even used the word 'shall' before.  Oh, well – it seemed to be quite the day for first-times.

"Heirs of Gryffindor," Voldemort replied in the same deep voice, and Harry felt a jolt of surprise at being addressed in such a way.  Flattering though it may be, it was going a bit far, wasn't it?  He and Heather – heirs of Gryffindor?  Although – it did explain why Voldemort had been so interested in them fourteen years ago.  He'd recognized them as the only people who could match him, just as Godric Gryffindor had been the only one to match Salazar Slytherin thousands of years before their time.  But Voldemort was still talking, so Harry decided to puzzle over his heritage later.  "It is a _victory_ I desire, and a _victory_ I shall have."

Harry heard Heather chuckle darkly.  "Then was it a _defeat_ you desired fourteen years ago?" she mocked, "We triumphed over you then, and we were babies.  Now we are stronger, and our victory will be more permanent."

The bar was getting closer and closer to Voldemort's wand.  He struggled, and for a moment it looked like the tides would turn, but no – the bar was pressing towards him relentlessly, and then-

A smoky gray cloud started to pour forth from the end of Voldemort's wand.  As it got further out, it resolved itself into arms and a head… finally a young woman stood next to Voldemort, looking around dispassionately.  She gave a small smile to Harry and Heather, then was joined by another figure – an older man, then they were joined by a little girl, then a woman, then another man…

Shape after shape came from Voldemort's wand, rapidly filling up the space around them.  Hundreds of ghosts, dozens of hundreds, it seemed, poured out and started to swirl around them, whispering insults at Voldemort, and encouragement to the Potters.  A solid gray wall surrounded them, and they couldn't see the Death Eaters or students in the room.  The ghosts, running out of space on the floor, started to float up towards the ceiling, still circling, a roiling gray mass with a few faces discernable every so often.

Just when Harry was wondering how many more ghosts could possibly be in the wand, the steady gray cloud sputtered to a stop, and the bar of golden light vanished.  All three of them fell backwards, exhausted.  Harry let go of Heather's hand and felt all the aches and pains return full force.  His scar burned painfully in his fore head and he trembled from the exertion of the task they'd just managed.  Voldemort was struggling to his feet, so Harry did the same, Heather along with him.

That power - or whatever it had been - had gotten them this far, now they had to finish this on their own.

"_Expelliarmus_!" Harry shouted, pointing his wand at Voldemort.  It was no good - Voldemort blocked the spell.

"_Expelliarmus_!" Heather cried from a position several feet away, where she had retrieved her wand.  This time it finally worked; Voldemort's wand shot out of his hand and landed firmly in Heather's.  She smiled triumphantly, then quickly tossed her wand to Harry as Voldemort lurched towards her and knocked her to the ground.

Harry caught the wand, feeling like he was in some sort of sinister version of keep-away.  He held Voldemort's wand in his hand, uncertain quite what to do with it.  Suddenly he heard a shout from behind him and whirled around.

Sirius and Remus were just barely visible above the heads of the gray ghosts; the two of them seemed to be standing on a table.  It also seemed as though the transparent barrier had collapsed; Harry could hear what they were yelling perfectly well – something along the lines of 'break the wand'.

Harry shrugged.  It seemed reasonable.  Turning back to his sister, he was surprised to see her standing right next to him, watching Voldemort wobble across the floor with a bad case of Jelly Legs.  Harry marveled momentarily at the dramatic change the night had undergone before raising Voldemort's wand high into the air and bringing it down with a sharp crack over his knee.

Then everything went black.

It was as if a huge shock wave had gone through the castle.  Everyone in the Great Hall was knocked to the ground.  Mirrors and windows exploded; suits of armor rattled menacingly, and a good number of paintings fell off the walls, their occupants shrieking angrily.

The wave spread out from the castle and across the lawn, rippling the grass and making the water of the lake lap against the shore more forcefully.

Villagers of Hogsmeade cowered in their houses as they looked out their windows at Hogwarts, which was bathed in green light from the Dark Mark hovering over it, and wondered fearfully at the odd shaking of the ground beneath them.

Sirius pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the throbbing at the back of his skull, and leapt up onto the table again to peer over the ghosts.

Voldemort was lying on the ground – not dead – he was twitching oddly and trying to stand.

Straining his neck, Sirius could just get a glimpse of his two godchildren, who were both stretched out on the ground.  Sirius noticed with a sick chill that neither of them was moving at all.  It looked as though Harry had been holding a firecracker that had gone off suddenly – his hands were badly burned, and the front of his robes were singed.  A cut below his right ear was bleeding, and his eyes were closed.

Heather lay next to him, looking slightly less scorched, and blood was oozing slowly from a cut at her hairline.  Sirius glanced over at Remus, who was standing next to him, and saw that they were both clearly thinking the same thing: they had to get to Harry and Heather _now_.  

But at the moment, that didn't seem to be possible.  The ghosts, if that's what they were, were gathering in more tightly around the two children until they were seemingly absorbed into them.  Sirius blinked, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him.

No, one by one the ghosts were being sucked into Harry and Heather's unconscious forms, which were shuddering and jerking unpleasantly.

"Do you think they're hurting them?" Sirius asked Remus worriedly.

Remus shook his head slowly.  "I don't think we have to worry… it looks as though the shades are just possessing them."

Sirius seemed to feel that this was a very good reason to worry, but didn't say anything else.

The ghosts, or _shades_ as Remus had called them, were pouring themselves more rapidly into the bodies of the two unconscious teenagers until there were none left in the Hall.

Everyone, Death Eaters, students, and faculty alike, watched silently, holding their breaths and wondering what could possibly happen next.

They didn't have to wait long.

Harry twitched slightly, then rolled onto his side and pushed himself up with his charred hands, though he didn't seem to feel any pain from them.  He glanced around, eyes lowered, then silently reached out a hand to his sister, who took it and stood up herself.  They both were looking intently at the ground, as though trying to sort something out.

Sirius almost laughed at how impossibly surreal the entire situation was, but kept his mouth shut. In certain cases, once you started laughing it was hard to stop.  He knew that from experience.

Quite suddenly, Harry and Heather both looked up, and quite a few people gasped.  Their eyes were black, all the way around.

"Nothing to worry about, hm?" Sirius asked Remus a bit sourly.

His two godchildren, or at least his two godchildren's _bodies_, turned their backs to him and looked back at Voldemort, who was still on the floor.

Harry's body laughed, and Sirius raised his eyebrows; it sounded as if hundreds of people were making the noise, which, he reflected, they probably were.  He wondered momentarily if either of the children had any control over their bodies at all.  The question was quickly answered as Harry's leg swung out and kicked Voldemort in the ribs.  A few Death Eaters cried out indignantly, but their exclamations were quickly smothered.

"You killed us," Heather's mouth moved mechanically, and hundreds of voices spoke the words at once, making it slightly hard to understand.  "Voldemort, you killed us all, and now we have come back for revenge."

"'Do unto others as you would have them do unto you'," Harry's mouth quoted, smiling sardonically.

"You can't stop me," Voldemort gasped, standing at last.  In his current state, he was certainly a far cry form the figure that people had feared fourteen years ago – the figure that had murdered Sirius' parents and younger sister when he was still a child himself…

"No one can stop me," Voldemort continued, "I'll only come back again, and again-"

"No," Heather's body stated firmly.  "This time, you _won't_ come back."

Then she and Harry started to chant – strange words that Sirius couldn't recognize or quite understand.  It seemed to be very effective, however – the air around them was crackling and rippling.  

Voldemort fell to his knees and started to scream.  His skin started to bubble repulsively, bolts of light shot through his body, which seemed to be collapsing in on itself… the screaming stopped, and then the crumpled heap that was all that was left of Lord Voldemort burst into flames.  The chanting stopped, the air returned to normal, and the two children's bodies turned back to the assembled crowd, which was quite silent.

"He is gone," Harry's body commented unnecessarily.  "He will not return."

Then he and Heather sagged forward slightly and the shades started to pour out of them and float towards the ceiling, fading into the night sky just before they reached the Dark Mark that still hung in front of the pale half moon.

Finally, the dark gray smoke seemed to be gone at last, and Harry and Heather stood in the middle of the silent Hall.

Harry glanced up at Sirius and held his eyes.  Sirius realized that there was something strange about those eyes, and yet oddly familiar…

Then he realized – when had Harry's eyes ever been _gray_?

"Prongs," Sirius croaked, stumbling forward with Remus right behind him.  

Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius noticed one of the black robed Death Eaters shifting further back nervously, but it didn't seem important now – nothing was important except for the two people standing right in front of him – for now he was sure; it was the spirits of Lily and James.

"Moony!  Padfoot!" James said joyously, in the same voice that Sirius recognized from so many years ago.

Then all four of them were a mass of arms, laughing and hugging each other ecstatically.  Lily grinned, green eyes sparkling, and kissed Sirius and Remus on the cheek.

"It's been too long," she told them both.

"Far too long," James agreed.  "Padfoot – you look like an old man!  Moony – is that gray hair?"

Neither Sirius nor Remus knew quite what to say, so they just beamed at their two friends.  They didn't know how this was possible, but it didn't matter.

"We've missed you both so much!" Remus said, staring at the two with desperate longing in his eyes.  Sirius nodded vehemently in agreement.  

"Lily, James," Sirius began, slowly.  There was something he'd wanted to tell them both for fourteen years.  He didn't know how long the ghosts of his friends would be able to stay, but he had to take advantage of the opportunity being given to him.  "I just wanted to say… I'm so _sorry_ for telling you to switch to Peter as Secret-Keeper.  I should have known – should have realized what he was…"

"Sirius, you couldn't have!" Lily said sternly, taking his hand to make him look at her.  "None of it was your fault!"

"That's the problem, isn't it?" James asked suddenly, studying his friend.  "You think it was your fault we died.  You've been blaming yourself for everything all these years."

"Sirius, no!" Lily said, desperately trying to comfort him.  "We never, _ever_ blamed you.  You have to understand that."  James nodded firmly.

Sirius grinned.  That was all they'd had to say.  That was what he'd needed to hear for fourteen years, what he'd been desperate to hear from the moment he saw their bodies until the moment they'd appeared tonight.  He suddenly felt as if his heart was lighter, and he could breath more easily.

James was talking to Remus now.

"Moony, we heard about that Wolfsbane Potion.  Tell Snape that if he doesn't keep making it for you, we'll haunt him," he paused and considered that statement.  "Actually, I think we'll haunt him anyway!"

Lily grinned wolfishly and nodded in agreement.

Remus smiled.  "Thanks, but – how did you know about that?"

James tapped Harry's head with one finger.  "It's all up here," he said mysteriously.

"You can see into their minds?" Remus asked, looking fascinated.

Lily shook her head, her expression thoughtful.  "Not really… more like we remember all the things they've seen and felt…" she looked at them both a bit tearfully.

"It hasn't been easy for our children, has it?" she asked softly.

"It'll get better, I swear," Sirius said firmly.  "I'll clear my name, and we'll take care of them."

James grinned broadly, trying and failing to achieve a cheerful look.  "Congratulations, Padfoot, you're going to be a father!"

"We'll take care of them," Sirius repeated, looking into his old friend's eyes.

Lily nodded.  "Thank you," she whispered to them both.  "Oh, and after all this is sorted out, you should send someone down through the secret passage to Honeydukes – there are some children hiding down there that Harry and Heather sent along."

"You're leaving?" Remus asked, voice a bit strained.

James surveyed him sadly.  "We have to."  He held out Harry's hand and Sirius and Remus grinned as they performed three parts of the bizarre, four-person handshake they'd made up during their school days.  Remus noticed that it seemed to work much better with only three people than with four.

Both men gave Lily one last hug and kiss goodbye.

"Good to see you again, Mrs. Prongs," Sirius whispered as they broke apart.

"Mind you be careful with that bike of yours," she teased.  "Goodbye, Remus – take better care of yourself!"

"Marauders forever, eh?" James said, giving them a much sadder version of his usual, prankish grin.

"Marauders forever," Sirius and Remus agreed quietly.

Then Harry and Heather's bodies sagged forward again and they crumpled to the floor, unconscious.  The spirits of Lily and James rose up, waved once more to their friends, then turned to look at their children until they faded away into air.

The silence in the Hall lasted for another moment before the doors burst open and the Dementors appeared, sweeping in and bringing the familiar cold of death with them.

Patronum from various older wizards and witches, including Remus, burst forth to try to push them out.  Death Eaters and giants seemed to suddenly remember why they were there and snapped into action.  Students rushed for the pile of wands in the center of the room and grabbed at them randomly, trying to defend themselves.

Despite the fact that Voldemort had already been dealt with, the Death Eaters were still obviously better off, what with having the giants and Dementors on their side.  Well, the giants, anyway, Sirius realized as a Dementor grabbed a Death Eater around the throat and sucked his soul out of his mouth.  Apparently the Dementors had decided to become less discriminating with their victims.

Sirius quickly finished off the Death Eater he'd been dueling with and glanced around frantically.  Remus was sending a large, wolf shaped Patronus after a group of fleeing Dementors; Hermione, Ron, and several other older students were fighting desperately against a pack of Death Eaters; Minerva McGonagall was trying to help tiny Professor Flitwick, who was being attacked by a giant…

Finally, Sirius' eyes lighted upon what he'd been looking for: Harry and Heather were still lying in the middle of the Hall eyes closed and faces pale.  They weren't… _dead?_  Sirius shook his head sharply.  No, that situation didn't bear thinking about.  His godchildren were safe, though not for long.  None of them would be safe for long…

Suddenly, the double doors of the Great Hall swung open and Sirius looked up to see the most welcome sight his eyes had ever feasted upon.

Framed in the wide doorway was Dumbledore, along with the rest of the Order of the Phoenix, dressed in their traditional white robes, and a very large group of other wizards and witches, being led by a man Sirius recognized as Arthur Weasley.  Over their heads, Sirius could see Rubeus Hagrid along with a good number of towering giants and a few centaurs.

Sirius gave a triumphant whoop, Dumbledore shouted 'FORWARD!' and the battle began in earnest.

Heather Potter woke up with an ache in her muscles, a pounding in her head, and a vague uncertainty of where she was.

Hesitantly, so as not to jostle any of the Bludgers that seemed to be bouncing around inside of her skull, she opened one eye, and was confronted with the rather dull sight of a white ceiling.

The ceiling didn't tell her much, and opening that eye hadn't hurt, so she decided to take a risk and open the other eye.  The white ceiling looked just about the same as it had through one eye, except now there was more of it.  This wasn't helpful at all!

Hearing a slight rustle to her left, Heather tipped her head ever so slightly in that direction to see what it was.  Her immediate assumption was that she had woken up in the middle of Honeydukes.  She was surrounded by tables upon tables of candies – Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Pepper Imps, Ice Mice, and loads of others she didn't even recognize.  How had she gotten to Hogsmeade?  Then she noticed something else: beyond a vase of yellow roses, she could just make out a bed, then another and another, all white and pristine and very neatly made.

Ah, so it wasn't Honeydukes at all, but the Hospital Wing.  In the bed closest to her was Harry, who had bandages on his hands and seemed to be sleeping.  In the center of the rather extravagant mountain of brightly wrapped sweets was Remus Lupin, who looked decidedly uncomfortable on a spindly, wooden chair.

"Remus?" Heather whispered, unsure if talking any louder would hurt her throat.  He didn't hear her, so she decided to find out.

"Remus," she said in a louder voice.  She was relieved to find that it didn't hurt at all.

He was off his chair and struggling through the ocean of candy and gifts to her bedside in a moment.

"Heather!" he exclaimed, looking concerned and relieved at the same time.  "How do you feel?  Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she assured him, smiling and even daring to nod slightly.  This, she discovered, was rather too bold a maneuver, and bolts of pain shot through her skull making her wince.

"No, you're not," Remus informed her, looking slightly alarmed.  "I'd better call Madam Pomfrey-"

"No, you can't!" Heather said, making a grab for his robes as he made to stand.  "She's insane- she'll just make me lie here and she won't answer any of my questions!  Please, you've got to stay!"

Remus smiled hesitantly and knelt back down.  "Alright, I'll answer your questions, but then I'm getting Madam Pomfrey."

Heather started to nod, but quickly stopped herself.  "Is Harry alright?"

Remus glanced over to the next bed.  From this position he could only see the boy's right forearm; everything else was blocked by all the gifts and get-well cards the children had received.

"He'll be fine.  He's still unconscious, but now that you've woken up, I'm sure he won't be far behind."

"How long have we been here?" Heather asked with slight trepidation.  She could remember the Dark Mark appearing over the Great Hall, Remus' abrupt and very frightening transformation, the snakes, the Dementor victims, going to fight Voldemort…  How in the world had they survived _that_?  The last thing she could remember was Harry holding Voldemort's wand, about to break it in half… had they killed him?  Or at least frightened him off?  It seemed very unlikely, as there had been many more Death Eaters and giants and Dementors than there had been capable students and faculty.

"About a week," Remus informed her.

Heather stared at him, then sat bolt upright, ignoring the pain in her skull and muscles.  "Oh, no – we've missed the OWLs!" she cried in desperation.

Remus laughed.  "I think they postponed them.  And I'm sure you two can get an extension."

They suddenly heard a groan from the bed next to them; it seemed Harry had been woken by his sister's outburst.  Remus went over to him and helped him sit up.

Heather smiled at him, relieved, and leaned back against her pillow.

"How are you feeling?" she asked her brother.

He winced as he searched for his glasses between several bags of Fizzing Whizzbees.  "Like I've been run over by the Hogwarts Express," he put his glasses on and blinked.  "Twice," he added, looking over at her.  "What about you?"

"Just the same," she agreed.  "We've been unconscious for a week!"

"Have we really?" Harry looked interested, then grinned broadly.  "Alright!  We've missed the OWLs!"

Heather shook her head, smiling.  "Nope.  They've given us an extension."

Harry groaned.  "What happened with Voldemort?" he asked Remus after a moment's pause.

"You don't remember?" Remus asked, looking at them sharply.

Harry shrugged.  "I just remember breaking his wand, then everything went black," Heather nodded in agreement.

Remus took a deep breath, obviously uncertain of where to begin.  "Well, you remember dueling with Voldemort?" he asked them.  "You remember forcing his wand to regurgitate all the shades?"

"Yeah," Heather nodded.  "Wait, what was that he said about us being heirs of Gryffindor?"

"It does seem a bit far-fetched," Harry agreed.

"Actually, it's not very hard to believe once you think about it," Remus said, smiling and gazing off into the distance.  "You know, some people have wondered for years why Voldemort even attempted to kill you when you were children.  You were only babies; there couldn't have been any harm in just letting you live.  I always supposed it was because he'd just wanted to make a clean job of it, but perhaps not… You know, of course, the story of Godric Gryffindor's duel with Salazar Slytherin after they founded Hogwarts?"

Both children nodded.

"Well, people said that no one could defeat Slytherin – that he was the best wizard of that time.  But Gryffindor did defeat him – he was the only one who could.

"Apparently, upon hearing from one of his Seers that the Heirs of Gryffindor had been born, Voldemort decided that this new story struck rather too close to the old one, and that you both must be eliminated before you grew to an age where you could pose a threat.  Unfortunately for him, he underestimated your mother," here Remus smiled again.  "Never a good idea."

Harry was thinking hard.  Remus certainly had a point.  He suddenly remembered his battle with the basilisk second year.  He'd been able to retrieve the sword of Godric Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat when no one else had ever done it before. '_Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the Hat, Harry_,' Dumbledore had told him.  He'd really meant _true Gryffindor_, then.

And a year before that, after Harry's battle with Voldemort and Quirrell, he'd asked Dumbledore something-

_'Well… Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him killing me.  But why would he want to kill me in the first place?'_

_'Alas,' Dumbledore had replied, sighing deeply, 'the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you.  Not today.  Not now.  You will know, one day… put it from your mind for now, Harry.  When you are older… I know you hate to hear this… when you are ready, you will know.'_

He was older.  He was ready.  And now he knew.  Remus was speaking again.

"Anyway, it seems that history always _does_ repeat itself, because you were the only ones able to defeat Voldemort," he finished, looking at them both with something like admiration in his eyes.

"We defeated Voldemort?" Heather asked, looking a bit skeptical.  "Just by Harry breaking his wand?"

"Well… no…" Remus began, obviously thinking hard about how to explain quite what had happened.  "After you broke the wand, there was this sort of explosion.  It knocked both of you unconscious, and broke just about every piece of glass in the entire castle," he smiled wryly, "Dumbledore's had lots of decorating witches in here the past two weeks to repair everything.  Anyway, the blast knocked you unconscious and the shades were able to posses you and mix their knowledge with your power to defeat Voldemort once and for all.  Most of the witches and wizards Voldemort killed were very knowledgeable, you know.  Knew a lot about Anti- Dark Arts chants and spells and such.

"It's a bit ironic, once you think about it.  Voldemort killed those who he thought were a threat to him, and in the end, killing them was what defeated him."

Harry and Heather both looked a bit dazed.  "So, where's everyone else?" Heather asked finally, looking a bit anxious.  "I mean, they're okay, right?" she saw a few people resting in beds on the other end of the Hospital Wing, all heavily bandaged.

"For the most part," Remus answered, looking a bit sad.  "There were casualties, naturally…"  
            "Who?" Harry croaked out desperately.

"Professor Flitwick… a couple Hufflepuff first years… some other students… I don't believe you know any of them, except – er – Katie Bell?  She was on the Quidditch Team, right?"

Harry nodded, a horrible sinking feeling in his chest.  Katie… she'd been a great Chaser, she was really smart, and really nice.  And there were others who had died.  They were dead, all because of-

"It is _not_ your fault," Remus said very firmly, correctly interpreting the looks on their faces.  "Listen to me, both of you – if you hadn't been here tonight, or if you hadn't survived Voldemort when you were children or something, he still would've come to Hogwarts.  Except he'd have come sooner, and he'd have won.  You saved hundreds of lives."

"Where's Sirius?" Heather asked finally to distract herself.  She knew Remus was right, but all the same…

"He's in a meeting with Dumbledore and the Minister," Remus told them, looking relieved by the change in conversation.

Harry sat bolt upright.  "Oh, no – they've caught him?  Are they going to send him back to Azkaban?"

"No, no, no," Remus reassured them hastily, "We caught Peter during the Battle.  Sirius' name has been cleared.  He's a free man."

Heather gaped at him.

"Fudge believes Sirius' story?" Harry gasped, hardly daring to believe his luck.  Could it be possible he'd never have to spend another summer with the Dursleys?

"Well, I'm not sure what _Fudge_ thinks," Remus said, a bit smugly, "But the _new_ Minister for Magic seemed very understanding of the situation."

"The new Minister?" Harry said suspiciously.

"Yes," Remus said, smiling, "Arthur Weasley."

"What!" Harry and Heather shouted at the same time, both grinning.

"How?" Harry sputtered incredulously.

"Well, as you know, Cornelius Fudge refused to believe that Voldemort had returned, and therefore didn't offer any assistance to anti-Dark Arts groups.  But Arthur Weasley, on the other hand, has been forming a very large group of Ministry officials and other wizards, ex-Aurors and the like, to combat Voldemort's forces since the Triwizard Tournament last year.  After our rather impressive victory, the _Daily Prophet_ posted several articles that were very – ahem – _unflattering_ to Fudge.  People all over the country started clamoring for a new Minster, Dumbledore nominated Arthur, and his was voted in."

Harry grinned, hardly able to believe his ears.

"Ron must be thrilled!" Heather exclaimed excitedly.  Strangely enough, Remus' expression clouded over.

"I believe they all will be, after they get over…" he trailed off, took a deep breath and started again.  "You know Ron's older brother Bill?  Well, he was at the Battle of course, and, well… a pack of Dementors swooped down on him before anyone could do anything, and-"

"They didn't…" Harry breathed out, making a hand gesture to his mouth and throat.

"Oh, no, they didn't administer the Kiss," Remus said, "Dumbledore shot a Patronus at them before they could.  But he does have some of the very advanced symptoms of a person who's been imprisoned in Azkaban.  He- he doesn't seem to recognize anyone, and he just sort of… babbles to himself.  They've sent him to St. Mungo's hospital," Remus went on, sighing heavily.  "The doctors aren't optimistic, but they say it's possible for him to recover eventually."

"How could they ever use Dementors on people, even Death Eaters?" Heather demanded bitterly as she watched Harry pick absently at the bandages on his hands.

"I don't know," Remus replied softly.  "That's actually what Sirius is meeting with Arthur and Dumbledore about – they're going to relieve the Dementors of their positions at Azkaban.  It will still stay a prison, of course – they'll need it after all the Death Eaters that were caught during the Battle, but the Dementors won't be used there.  They're trying to decide upon the best way to dispose of them…  Sirius seems very excited by the idea."

"And the giants?" Heather asked, remembering.

"They've been sent back North," Remus told her.  "All those that fought for our side were offered the option to stay for a while, and I think one or two of them has, to visit with Hagrid and Madam Maxim – the Headmistress of Beuxbatons, you know.  They're the ones that convinced them to come help us at all."

"What about Hermione- is Hermione alright?" Harry asked suddenly.

"She's fine.  She's actually around here somewhere…"

The words had barely left his mouth when Hermione herself walked into the room, and, upon seeing Harry and Heather both sitting up, ran towards them with a broad grin on her face.

"Oh, you're alright!  You're awake, you're alright!" she cried, in a hushed voice, of course, as not to anger Madam Pomfrey.  Luckily, Hermione was able to contain her ecstasy a bit, and didn't attempt to hug either of them.  Heather wouldn't have minded, but she was sure her ribs were another story.  She could still feel the bruises from where Remus had pounced on her.  Instead, Hermione just bounced up and down on the balls of her feet.  Carefully, of course, as not to step on any of their candy.

"Yeah, Hermione, we're alright," Harry said, laughing.

"Oh, I was ever so worried about you – I've barely been able to study, you know, for the OWLs – they've postponed them until next week, I think you two got extensions though," she went on, babbling cheerfully at an impossible speed.  Remus watched her, looking rather amazed.  "And they've fixed up the Common Room, it was such a mess before, because of those awful Death Eaters, but it's just as good as new, and they've had loads of articles about you both and everything that's happened, and Rita Skeeter even wrote a few, but she behaved herself very well, everything she said was very flattering, except when she wrote about Cornelius Fudge, of course, they've forced his resignation, did you hear?  Ron's dad is the new Minister!  Can you believe it?  I think it's so wonderful, and Malfoy's father-"

She chattered on for quite a while at an extremely fast rate, and Harry and Heather listened to her happily.

The year had been hard and the end of it had certainly been harder, but they were both quite sure that the future was brighter than ever before.

A/N:  Well, that's it!  Did you love it?  Did you hate it?  Do you want to write a review?  (hint, hint, wink, wink)  Okay, enough shameless begging, and down to business:

The next chapter is just an epilogue – a glimpse to a few months later.  Pure fluff.  Just a warning.  

Another side-note: I'm thinking about writing an MWPP/L story or something.  Do you think I should?  Would you read it if I did?  If anyone is at all interested, I might actually kill the procrastination bug and do it!


	7. Hogwarts Again

"I can't believe you bought that, how on earth are you going to afford the rest of your school things?" Heather demanded of her brother, eying the long package he was cradling as they walked down Diagon Alley together.

"I'll just… er… borrow your books this year," Harry replied hopefully.

Heather rolled her eyes.  "Honestly, Harry – there was nothing wrong with your Firebolt, what do you need the Firebolt II for?  It's not like anyone else at school will have one."

"I've told you, Heath – as captain of the team, I'm expected to have-" but the rest of his slightly annoyed reply was cut off by another voice.  Two others, in fact.

"Harry, Heather!  Over here!" the pair turned to see their friends Ron and Hermione hurrying towards them from the direction of Florean Fortecue's Ice Cream Parlour, broad grins plastered on both their faces.

"Hey, Hermione!  How was your summer?" Heather greeted her best friend happily.

"Fantastic!  I had the best time in Spain, and I learnt so much about the witches and wizards during the Inquisition.  I heard you got made a Prefect!  You must've done really well on your OWLs!" she added.

"Yep," Heather said proudly, "And Harry's the Quidditch Captain!"

"What!" Ron exclaimed, eyes lighting up.  "Harry, I can't believe you didn't owl me!"

"How's Bill doing?" Heather asked him gently as the group walked towards Flourish and Blotts.

"Better," Ron said, smiling.  "He recognized Mum last week when we went to visit him – talked to her and everything!  The doctors say he'll probably be back to normal in a couple more months!"

"That's great!" Harry said brightly, feeling a bit guilty.  He'd been having such a good time during his summer that he'd almost forgotten that Ron might not be having as good a time during his.  He and Heather had exchanged a few owls with Ron and Hermione, but mostly they'd been too busy moving into their new house with Sirius to do think about much else.

It had really been the best summer of his life.  He'd gotten off to an excellent start, of course – the look on Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's faces when he'd shown up on Privet Drive with Sirius and Heather to announce that he'd be moving in with his convicted-murderer-godfather and supposedly-dead-sister had been priceless.

Sirius had bought a house in the Midlands, which, Harry had noted cheerfully, could've fit the Dursley residence inside of it two times with room to spare.  He and Heather got along really well, and they'd spent most of their time listening to stories about the adventures of the Marauders from Remus and Sirius and trying to repair Heather's accent.  Thanks to some intensive work from Remus and Harry, she'd gotten a pretty good one by now.

For the first time, Harry hadn't had to do his summer homework in secret; he could sit down at the kitchen table with Heather and work on their Defense Against the Dark Arts essays with Remus giving them tips, or on their Potions essays as Sirius made cruel jokes about Snape.  He was even allowed to practice for the Quidditch season in the backyard, as most of their neighbors were wizards.

Since the disaster with Snape in the Entrance Hall that past Christmas, Heather had refused to get near a broomstick, and stubbornly declined the flying lessons that Harry had repeatedly offered her.  She seemed very interested, however, in Sirius' flying motorbike, which he had managed to reacquire from Hagrid, who'd found it under a large box of Gnome-Be-Gone in the shed behind his hut.  Sirius had spent a good deal of time lovingly tending to the bike's 'wounds' as he said.

"What's that, Harry?" Ron asked suddenly, pointing to the package Harry was carrying.

"The Firebolt II," Harry told him, grinning.

"Really?" Ron exclaimed, goggling at him, "Wicked!  It must have cost a fortune!  Have you ridden it yet?"

Heather rolled her eyes at Hermione, who grinned.  They walked off to find their school books amongst the dozens of tall shelves of the bookstore, talking mostly about Spain and the Inquisition.

Laughing as she chatted happily with her friend, Heather reflected in amazement that it had just been one year earlier that she'd been sitting on a bench in front the Parker's house, wondering who her next 'family' would be.  

Nothing could have prepared her for this.

Thank you for reading.


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